


Louis and Clara

by pristineungift



Series: The New Adventures of Superwoman [1]
Category: Lois & Clark: The New Adventures of Superman
Genre: Character Study, Episode Remix, F/M, Genderswap, Romance, Rule 63
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-17
Updated: 2013-05-24
Packaged: 2017-12-08 19:05:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/764943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pristineungift/pseuds/pristineungift
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A reimagining of the pilot episode of 'Lois and Clark' with one major change: Louis Lane is a man’s man, and Clara Kent is the Woman of Steel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Daily Planet

**Author's Note:**

> Any scenes I skip over, you can assume went the same as in the pilot episode. I’m more interested in writing the parts where the character study would make things different than rehashing scenes that would be substantially the same. ^_~ Also, special thanks to the scripts resource on the message boards!

Louis Lane knew that Clara Kent was going to be trouble the instant he laid eyes on her. She was hunched in one of the chairs in Perry’s office, black hair in a tight French braid that screamed country bumpkin, wearing an unflattering suit that Louis strongly suspected had at one point belonged to her mother. The whole unbelievable outfit was topped off by a really too sweet oval locket with a flower engraved on the front, probably a hand me down from Meemaw. But all that wasn’t why Clara Kent was trouble. Oh no.

The trouble came in with those great big brown doe eyes, peering at Louis from behind unfavorably thick glasses. (If Clara’s suit used to be her mother’s, those glasses had probably once been her father’s, Louis would bet on it.) Those eyes said that Clara was a naïve country princess who would be broken by the city in a mere matter of weeks, and worse, there was an expression there when Clara looked at Louis that could only be described as worshipful.

“Louis Lane, this is Clara Kent,” Perry introduced them, after getting a few shots in at Louis for interrupting Clara’s job interview. Louis had taken them without comment. At the end of the day, he had the goods, and the news waited for no man. Not even Perry White.

“Louis Lane,” Clara Kent stood and held out her hand. Louis noted that, unlike most of the city women he met, Clara’s nails were plain and uneven. She’d probably never even heard of a manicure.

Louis ignored the outstretched hand. He’d had his share of simpering admirers in the years since he’d begun making a name for himself as a hotshot reporter. He didn’t need a woman dragging him down. Every time he was tempted, he could hear his mother’s voice echoing in his ears, calling his father names – calling _Louis_ names, for the crime of being Sam Lane’s son – and see his father storming out to carry on affair after torrid affair, leaving Louis to try to find some way to teach his little sister Lucy how to be a decent person, something most people would agree Louis himself was not. So Louis was not in the market. He’d no intention of living up to his father’s legend as a womanizer, and he was well aware that he possessed all of Sam Lane’s bad traits to an extreme – workaholic, uncompromising, occasionally rude… the list went on.

So he barely gave any woman the time of day. Better that than waking up in ten years, and finding he’d driven her to alcoholism and she was blaming their son for their sham of a marriage.

And besides, he had Lucy to consider. Lucy was too fragile for the real world, and Louis had spent his entire life being her guard dog. Mad Dog Lane. Everyone thought that nickname had something to do with Louis’ tenacity when it came to journalism, but the truth was the nickname dated all the way back to high school. Some jerk had broken Lucy’s heart.

Louis had responded by breaking the guy’s face.

Louis got detention for it, and more than an earful from Ellen Lane, but after that the word was out. Mess with Lucy Lane at your peril. You’ll have to face Mad Dog.

“I think there’s something to this thing with the Messenger, Chief, that guy…”

“Louis! What happened to that mood piece I gave you?” Perry responded, giving Louis the Evil Eye that had sent many reporters meekly scurrying after their assigned stories. Fortunately, Louis was a master at dodging the Eye. “The one about the razing of the old theater on forty-second street?”

Louis made a show of checking his watch, saying casually, “I wasn’t in the mood.”

“Not in the mood!” Perry exclaimed. Louis could feel an Elvis story coming on.

Jimmy knocked on the office window.

 _Saved by the bell,_ Louis thought. “I’ve got to go, Chief,” he called, striding from the room. He was going to get an interview with Lex Luthor if it killed him. And he was going to get to the bottom of what was going on with the space program. He was Mad Dog Lane, after all.

So well did Clara Kent fade into the background, that Louis totally forgot her presence, sparing her as much thought as the office furniture.

**-l-**

“Metropolis isn't the outback, you know. People in the city are always out to make a quick buck. If they find out about you, they’ll put you in a lab and – ”

“And dissect me like a frog, I know Daddy,” Clara sighed, holding the payphone of her shabby hotel room to her ear. “I’m being careful.”

Ever since Clara could remember, her father had been warning her about letting people see her powers. And about boys. And about big city people. And a thousand other things. It was funny, in a way. As far as she and her adoptive parents, Martha and Jonathon Kent, knew, nothing on Earth could hurt her. But Daddy was still as overprotective as they came.

“Be patient with your father, Clara,” Mom’s voice sounded tinny through the phone. “You know he still thinks of you as his little girl.”

“His little girl who’s strong enough to stop a city bus,” Clara muttered.

“What’s that, dear?”

“Nothing, Mom. Look, I’m sure I’ll be fine. I’ll see you both next week.”

“I’ll wire you out some cash, sweetie,” Jonathon said.

Clara sighed. “Dad… thanks. I’ll pay you back.”

Hanging up the phone, she started shrugging out of her uncomfortable business suit, tossing it onto the lumpy mattress that masqueraded as a bed. Frowning at the boxy jacket, she fingered the lapels. The maroon skirt suit was probably at least a decade out of fashion, if it had ever been in fashion at all. Somehow, Clara had never noticed before. No one much cared about fashion in Borneo. Or Smallville, for that matter.

Maybe the suit was why Perry White wouldn’t give her a chance.

Maybe the suit was why Louis Lane, one of the greatest reporters of their time, wouldn’t shake her hand.

Or maybe it was part of the Good Ole Boys attitude still present in journalism, whether the men involved were aware of it or not. After all, how many women had Clara seen on her way through the Daily Planet newsroom? Just two, and one of them was pretty clearly some kind of secretary or administrative assistant. The other, Clara recognized as Cat Grant. She liked to read Cat’s column in the paper, and the occasional articles Cat contributed to women’s magazines. Cat was very vocal about women having the right to enjoy active, judgment free sex lives in the same way as men, if they so chose. Clara agreed with the sentiment, though she herself _did not_ so choose.

Part of it was the fear of discovery. Part of it was the stigma associated with sex before marriage in a rural community like Smallville. And part of it, a big part, if she was honest, was that Clara thought sex should be about love.

She’d gone to one of Cat Grant’s guest lectures at Met U once, and been happy to see that Ms. Grant was just as flamboyant, just as… larger than life as she seemed in print.

 _That does it_ , Clara decided, getting her battered suitcase and digging through it for an outfit suitable for both flying and interviewing.

She was going to go down to that old theatre, the one Mr. White mentioned during her interview. The assignment that Louis Lane didn’t want. Clara was going to do that assignment, and she was going to march back into the Daily Planet and get a job, and become Cat Grant’s best friend, and Louis Lane was going to read her articles and look her in the eye and tell her what a good reporter she was, and then, since she might as well go all out in this fantasy, he was going to be suddenly shirtless and riding a horse and declare that he’d been waiting all his life for her.

Giggling, Clara flushed. She’d been reading too many of her mom’s romance novels. Though Louis did certainly look like he could grace the cover of one, with that dark hair and strong jaw, and all those muscles… He must go to the gym a lot. And those sleek black suits! Everything about Louis Lane was polished sharp edges, from writing style to wingtip shoes. Clara should think he was an arrogant jerk, after the way he’d ignored her when they were introduced.

But instead she just smiled a dopy smile, and silently thanked him for unknowingly giving her a second shot at the Daily Planet.

Putting her glasses on, Clara opened the window and drifted out into the sky, shooting up high and fast so that she wouldn’t be seen.

**-l-**

_You need to get out more, Louie_ , Lucy’s voice swirled around Louis’ head. _Stop worrying about my dates, and start having some of your own!_

 _I get out plenty. I have dates,_ Louis had countered.

_You have interviews! It’s not the same thing! You need to stop being such a big brother all the time. Not all women are going to break, you know. We’re not all Mom. And you’re not Dad, Louie._

Louis had left the apartment rather than continue talking, proving, unequivocally, that he was _just_ like Dad.

He scowled, remembering what had brought about that particular conversation. Louis still needed a date for Lex Luthor’s White Orchid Ball. Louis’ usual social partner, Michelle, had called to cancel, and dang it, Louis _needed_ a date! If he was ever going to get that Lex Luthor interview, he’d need some camouflage. A piece of eye candy to dance with, to hang on his arm, to distract Luthor so that by the time he noticed it was Louis Lane escorting said piece of eye candy, Louis would already be in striking range.

He surveyed the newsroom. Cat Grant was right out. She’d expect more attention than Louis was willing to spare, and she’d be insufferably smug at his asking her out after years of rebuffing her advances. There was a copy girl milling around the bullpen, but it seemed bad form to ask her out without knowing her name. Where was Jimmy? Jimmy would know the copy girl’s name…

“Lane!”

Louis looked up to see Perry sticking his head out his office door. “Come in here, I want you to hear some copy.”

Louis went, assuming that Perry wanted his opinion on an editorial.

Instead, he found Jimmy standing in the chief’s office, along with that farm girl from the day before, still in her mousy suit and dorky glasses, and that braided hair so girlish that it might as well be pigtails. Was she a new intern or something? Maybe Jimmy had finally moved up the totem pole, and this mousy girl was here to be the new gofer.

“…She came to say goodbye, as we all must, to the past, and to a life and a place that soon would exist only in a bittersweet memory,” Perry read from the article in his hands.

Louis arched a brow. Had the chief given Jimmy the piece on the theatre?

“Smooth,” Jimmy said, winking at the farm girl, who gave a bright princess smile.

They all turned and looked at Louis. “If you like that sort of thing,” he said, feeling that they expected him to speak. To be truthful, he was a little surprised that Jimmy had prose like that in him.

Perry stuck out his hand. “Clara Kent, welcome to The Daily Planet!”

The farm girl shook Perry’s hand, her smile cranked up to superhuman levels.

Wait.

What?

“You wrote that?” Louis burst, looking at the, the… schoolmarm standing in front of him.

She shrank in on herself, and for a second Louis felt like a bully and that made him angry because it wasn’t _his_ fault if she was a doormat – and then Clara Kent straightened up, her chin level with his shoulder, and looked him in the eye. “Yes. I wrote it,” she said defiantly. But then her expression clouded, and she bit her bottom lip. “I heard you tell Mr. White you weren’t in the mood. I didn’t mean to steal it.”

Highly aware that Perry and Jimmy were watching, Louis fought down the irritation that this Little Miss Apple Pie thought she could possibly have stolen a story from him, and pasted a smile on his face. “No problem, Farm Girl. I didn’t want it.”

The chief sent Jimmy to get Kent set up at a desk, and Louis retreated from the editor’s office, going to look through his notes on Lex Luthor.

**-l-**

Jimmy was being really nice and welcoming, Clara thought. She was sure that they would get to be friends. And she _would_ have friends this time. This time she would stay. It was everything she’d ever wanted, this job at the Daily Planet. She’d find a way to make it work.

 _And it doesn’t hurt that your desk is right across from Louis Lane’s_ , whispered an inner voice. _Talk about tall, dark, and handsome._

It was just a shame that he also seemed to be kind of a jerk. Still, maybe he’d warm up to her. Some reporters were like that, acting like dogs fighting over a bone. Yes, Clara convinced herself. Louis would calm down once Clara had proven herself.

“Honey,” a deep alto voice made Clara turn. “I have _got_ to take you shopping.”

“You’re Cat Grant!” Clara exclaimed, finding herself face to face with the tall auburn haired beauty. Then she fiddled with her glasses, embarrassed. _Good going, Kent! Way to convince them you’re not a rubbernecking tourist…_

Cat laughed. “Have we met before?”

“I went to one of your guest lectures at Met U, Ms. Grant,” Clara replied, pleased to have something semi-intelligent to say. “Slut Shaming in Modern Media. It was a very interesting talk.”

“Please, call me Cat.” Cat slipped one of her arms through Clara’s. “It’s refreshing to meet someone who knows about that side of my work. I’m underappreciated around here.”

“We’d appreciate it if you wore something under those leather skirts of yours,” Louis called from his desk. “Or at least, I certainly would.”

Shocked, Clara opened her mouth to retort, not sure what she was going to say, but certain that she was going to say something.

“Don’t mind Lou,” Cat cut Clara off. “He’s always like this. Compensating for something, you know.”

Cat’s waggling brows left no doubt as to what exactly Louis was supposedly compensating for.

“For the last time, Cat. My name is not Lou. My name is not Louie. My name is Louis.”

“Fine, _Louis_ – ”

They were interrupted by the volume being turned up on one of the many television monitors in the bullpen. Clara turned to look just in time to see an explosion. The news anchor was talking about a space shuttle pilot, and the possible reasons for a launch failure, but Clara didn’t hear. She couldn’t focus on anything past the ringing in her ears.

Couldn’t feel anything but a familiar wave of guilt.

Every time something like this happened – an earthquake, a storm, an explosion – she always wondered… Could she have done something to stop it? With the powers she possessed, could she have saved lives? Didn’t she have a duty to help where she could?

_Dissect you like a frog._

_With great power comes great responsibility._

It was a familiar tug of war that never failed to depress Clara.


	2. Partners

  
  
"I'll need a task force, I can't cover this story alone," Louis paced in front of Perry's desk, not bothering with social niceties. This story was huge. He could taste it.  
  
"You can have Jimmy," Perry said blandly.  
  
Louis made a face. "Chief, we're talking about the space program..."  
  
Perry considered that. "Alright. Take Kent."  
  
That stopped Louis in his tracks. He whirled to face Perry. "Kent?!"  
  
"Kent."  
  
"What about Myerson?"  
  
"Busy."  
  
"Burns?"  
  
"Budapest."  
  
Louis crossed his arms. "Forget Kent."  
  
Perry frowned. "She's got talent."  
  
"She's a hick. Little Susie Smallville. I couldn't  _make_  that name up!"  
  
"Kent, or nobody."  
  
"Chief, I'll have to spend all my time just trying to make sure she stays out of trouble! She's just off the bus. Heck, she's just off the turnip cart! I turn my back for a minute, and some gang will have her tied naked to a telephone pole!"  
  
Perry raised a brow. "You been thinking about Clara naked, tied to a pole?"  
  
Louis flushed, and told himself very firmly it was from anger. "Fine," he all but snarled. "I'll take Kent. But don't ever say I'm not a team player."  
  
He slammed his way out of Perry’s office and wasted no time in marching over to Kent's desk, determined to impress upon her that she'd better listen to him if she wanted to survive long enough to see a byline.  
  
Kent was busy typing away at her computer, a little smile on her face. Louis cleared his throat and she looked up, her smile getting bigger. Welcoming.   
  
Louis frowned. Was she trying to flirt with him in her simple, country way? He’d better nip this in the bud now. Wouldn’t do to have Clara thinking she could charm her way into a marriage, or ride his coattails to journalistic fame.  
  
Like Claudia.  
  
He shook that thought away. “You’re with me, Kent,” he snapped.  
  
She stopped smiling. Good.  
  
“I am?” she asked.  
  
God, she was slow.  
  
“Yes, now hurry up.”  
  
Louis tapped his foot impatiently while Clara shut down her computer and gathered up a truly hideous monster purse that was big enough to qualify as a diaper bag. Louis suddenly found himself wondering if she had children, but quickly dismissed the thought. He didn’t care.  
  
Clara slid the dull beige monstrosity over her shoulder, and fell into step with Louis as he headed to the elevator. She gave a little hop halfway there, trying to keep up with Louis’ long strides.  
  
He didn’t slow down. She could either move at his speed, or fall behind.  
  
“Mind if I ask where we’re going?” Clara said. Surprisingly, she wasn’t winded, even after her show of bunny hopping after Louis. Louis looked up, watching the needle above the elevator that indicated what floor it was on.  
  
"To interview Samuel Platt. He's convinced the Messenger was sabotaged." Then Louis turned to look down at Clara, focusing on the top of her head. "And let's get something straight right now. I didn't work my butt off to become an investigative reporter for the Daily Planet just to babysit some hack from Nowheresville."  
  
The elevator doors opened, and Louis stepped on board, still talking. "You're not working with me, you're working for me. I call the shots. I ask the questions. You do what I say, stay close, and stay out of trouble. You're the low man. I'm top banana. And that's the way I like it. Comprende?"  
  
He expected Clara to fold like a house of cards. In fact, he just hoped he hadn’t been harsh enough to make her cry, because he’d no earthly idea what to do with a weeping woman. But this needed to be straightened out right from the beginning, and Clara needed to start developing a thicker skin if she was going to make it. If she wasn’t cut out for city reporting, best find out right away…  
  
But Clara just looked calmly up at Louis, her brown eyes dancing with laughter. “You like to be on top. Got it.”  
  
Louis sputtered.   
  
Well, Clara  _had_  recognized Cat on sight. Maybe she was a disciple at Cat’s School of Vamp.  
  
“Don’t push it, Kent,” he said, trying to regain control of the situation. “You are way out of your league.”  
  
Clara just smiled.  
  
-l-  
  
Once they got back to the newsroom – after interviewing Platt and paying EPRAD a visit – Louis put Clara to work trying to sort through Platt’s crumpled report.  
  
Clara’s voice stopped him just as he was about to return to his own desk. He had to start going through his little black book, trying to find a date who would distract Lex Luthor, but not distract Louis himself.   
  
“Louis, about Dr. Baines…”  
  
“What about her?”  
  
Clara turned those brown eyes, so much like Lucy’s, into full guilt trip mode. Louis was sure she was doing it on purpose. “Do you always flirt, if it will help you get a story?”  
  
She was disappointed in him. For an instant, Louis was ashamed of himself, but then he pushed that feeling away, cloaking himself in irritation.  
  
He was different from his father. It’s not like he owed these women anything.  
  
“I do what it takes to get the story, Clara.” He paused, about to say more, but then thought better of it. So far, Clara had stubbornly held onto her rose tinted glasses. There was nothing else Louis could do to prepare her.  
  
She’d just have to lose her innocence the old fashioned way.  
  
“Oh.”  
  
Louis went to his desk, got out his little black book, and started dialing – he’d start at Ashley, and work his way all the way through Zoe if he had to.  
  
-l-  
  
Clara tried not to eavesdrop on Louis’ phone conversations, but it was hard with the newsroom almost deserted. She could restrict her hearing a lot, but not turn it completely off, and with no other sounds to distract her, she couldn’t help but notice that Louis was looking for a date.  
  
And that he didn’t seem to care who it was with.  
  
Some of the women said they were busy. Some were sick. One had gotten married since Louis last called.  
  
Clara wondered how many were telling the truth, and how many were making excuses. Maybe Louis was just a really terrible date. After all, he was really prickly and rude. But when he smiled… the whole room lit up.   
  
Feeling heat in her cheeks, Clara realized she was blushing. She was sitting here mooning over her colleague, the one who had treated her like a dimwitted porcelain doll all day!  
  
But in spite of that, Clara liked him. There were flashes of a more sensitive man there, when Louis didn’t think anyone was looking. He was just afraid to show his softer side. And a lot of his attitude seemed to stem from a genuine concern that something would happen to Clara while she was in the city. It was still chauvinistic, that he didn’t seem to think she could take care of herself, but in a way it was sweet too.  
  
It kind of reminded her of Daddy.  
  
 _Oh great,_  Clara groaned inwardly.  _Let’s not mention that one to Mom, or she’ll start in with Freud and her psych classes._  
  
As Clara watched, Louis hung up his phone and looked up across his desk. Clara quickly returned her attention to the mess of papers in front of her, not wanting to be caught staring.   
  
“I don’t suppose you have an evening gown?”   
  
Clara looked up, feeling her flush return. “I could get one.”  
  
Louis grimaced, and Clara viciously repressed a stab of hurt. He looked like it was making him physically ill to have to stoop to asking the hack from Nowheresville to accompany him… wherever it was he was going.  
  
“I need a date to Lex Luthor’s ball tonight,” Louis said.  
  
Clara decided she wasn’t going to make this easy for him. “And?”  
  
A fleeting expression of surprise crossed Louis’ face. Had he thought she’d jump at the chance to go out with him? No matter how handsome he was, he hadn’t been very nice to her today.  
  
“Look, do you want to go or not?”  
  
Clara smiled. “Thanks anyway, Louis, but I think I’m going to get to bed early tonight.”  
  
At that, Louis exploded. "Are you crazy? This is the social event of the season. Everyone who's anyone is going to be there, and you want to go to bed early?" He threw up his hands.  
  
Clara giggled at his dramatics. He was really pretty cute when he got worked up. "So... is this a date?"  
  
"A date?" Louis sneered. "Oh, you mean like in Kansas, where I ask your father for permission and then try to feel you up in the vacant lot behind the Dairy Freeze?"  
  
Clara giggled again, and Louis scowled. Valiantly, Clara tried to rearrange her face into an expression of seriousness, but she just couldn't. Louis was cracking her up.  
  
"This is not a date," Louis went on. "It's business. I'm going to land Lex Luthor's first one-on-one interview if it kills me, and I need someone pretty on my arm to lure him in. He's notorious for stealing dates away at these shindigs."  
  
And now Clara burst into a bright grin, warmth spreading in her chest. “You think I’m pretty?”  
  
Louis gaped like a landed fish, and Clara bit back yet another giggle. She didn’t think he’d appreciate it.  
  
“I… that is… you’re… If you ditch the mommy hand me downs and do something with your hair, you’re alright,” Louis said at last.   
  
Clara snorted. “You think I’m pretty. Okay, Lou. I’d love to go to the ball with you.”  
  
Clara waited for Louis to correct her on his name, just like he’d done to Cat earlier. Surprisingly, he didn’t. He just gathered up his coat and started heading toward the elevator.  
  
“I’ve got to go get my tux. I’ll pick you up at eight.”  
  
As soon as the elevator doors closed behind Louis, Clara sped over to Cat’s desk, grabbed one of her business cards, and frantically punched the listed home number into Cat’s desk phone.  
  
“Cat Grant.”  
  
“Cat,” Clara said with some relief. “Will you help me?”  
  
-l-  
  
Cat Grant’s apartment was a mixture of love nest and library, and pretty much exactly what Clara had expected.  _The Kama Sutra_  stood right next to  _The Complete Works of William Shakespeare,_  a testament to Cat’s celebration of her right to be both sexual and smart.  
  
 _Why should we have to be one or the other?_  Cat had said in that long ago Met U lecture.  _People ask me why I dress the way I do. Why I don’t dress like the smart professional I am. My reply is why shouldn’t I dress the way I do? Should what I’m wearing matter? I’m a beautiful woman. It’s not conceit, it’s just a fact. People look at me, and they assume I’m shallow and stupid. I wear a leopard print dress, and they assume I’m shallow, stupid, and easy. But that’s camouflage. If they want to underestimate me, let them. I am a modern woman in an urban jungle, and if my prey can’t see me coming, that’s their own fault._  
  
Clara wondered how many people at the Daily Planet fell for Cat’s leopard spots. She was willing to bet pretty much everyone but Perry.  
  
Maybe even Perry.  
  
“So you’re going out with Louis?” Cat said, drawing Clara into the bedroom. Cat had graciously agreed to loan Clara a dress for the ball, and to help her with hair and make-up.  
  
“It’s just business,” Clara replied. “I’m supposed to lure Lex Luthor to Lou, so he can get an interview.”  
  
“Ah,” Cat said, as if everything suddenly made sense. “I was wondering if you’d put a spell on him or something. Louie’s got  _extreme_  mommy issues. He pretty much only dates when he has to, for work appearances. To be honest, I think he’s afraid of what he might do to a woman.”  
  
“What?” Clara gasped, suddenly really glad she was invulnerable. Could she have misjudged Lou that badly?  
  
“Oh, I don’t mean he’s an abuser or anything,” Cat quickly corrected. “But word in the newsroom is that Louie’s dad stepped out on his mom all the time, and his mom used to drink and yell at Lou that he was just like his father and stuff like that. I guess you can’t really blame him for having issues after all that.”  
  
Cat laid some dresses that looked like they might fit out on the bed. Clara was relieved to see that none of them were animal print or even that immodest. She wasn’t sure if she was brave enough to wear something like that.  
  
“How do you know all that?” Clara picked up a deep blue dress, and went behind the screen standing in the corner to try it on.  
  
“There was this reporter a while ago, Claudia. She was from France. Anyway, apparently she and Louie spent a night getting really cozy, if you know what I mean. The next day, Claudia was telling everyone about Lou’s mommy issues and claiming he was a one minute man. Come to think of it, that probably didn’t help his shining personality any.”  
  
Clara came out from behind the screen, wincing in sympathy. “Poor Lou.”  
  
Cat snorted. “Poor everybody else. We’re the ones who have to deal with him. Here, try this red one.” She thrust another dress at Clara. It was sleeveless, with a fitted bodice that was a bit lower than Clara liked.  
  
“I don’t know, Cat…”  
  
But Cat would hear none of it. She bodily pushed Clara back behind the screen, and Clara had to let her, lest Cat suspect anything.  
  
So she tried on the dress. And she had to admit, it looked good. Really good.  
  
“See!” Cat said. “It’s perfect for you. It just needs to be hemmed a little, since I’m taller. But if we get you some really high heels…”  
  
“I can hem it, if you don’t mind,” Clara said, not relishing the thought of trying to walk in such tall shoes. “I can run home and do it right now, and then come back so we can do hair and make-up. And I can let the dress back down after tonight,” she hastened to add.  
  
Cat laughed at her. “You are just too cute for words, Clara Kent. Something tells me this is going to be the start of a beautiful friendship. Sure. Go home and hem the dress. You can have it.”  
  
Clara started to protest, but Cat held up a hand. “You can pay me back by being my emergency seamstress, alright?” She winked. “Now get going, so we’ll have time. And call Louie and tell him to pick you up at my place. He knows where it is.”  
  
That gave Clara pause. “Have you and Lou… you know?”  
  
Cat patted her hand. “No, but not for lack of trying on my part. You’ve gotten further with Louie in one day than I have in five years.”  
  
Clara blushed yet again, but Cat was kind enough to pretend not to notice.  
  
-l-  
  
Clara breezed into the kitchen of her parents’ farm house, her dress bundled to her chest, and her hair ruffled from flying. That was why she usually wore it in a tight braid, but she’d taken it down at Cat’s and not bothered to put it back up again.  
  
“Clara!” Mom exclaimed, turning away from the stove with oven mitts on her hands. “You’re just in time for dinner. Your father’s out back.”  
  
“Sorry, Mom, I don’t have time to eat.” Clara was already moving towards the living room. “I just came to borrow the sewing machine, if that’s okay? I need to hem this dress before tonight.”  
  
Martha Kent’s eyebrows rose into her hairline. “That’s some dress. Special occasion?”  
  
Drat. Clara never had been able to sneak anything past her mother. “I’m going to a ball in Metropolis tonight with Louis Lane. But Mom, I’m really in a hurry so…”  
  
“Say no more.” Martha pulled off the oven mitts, set the oven to ‘warm,’ and followed Clara up the stairs. “We can talk while you work.”  
  
Martha held the dress and started pinning up the section that needed to be hemmed while Clara got the sewing machine. “Tell me about this man you’re going to a ball with.” Martha’s eyes twinkled. “Is he handsome?”  
  
“Mo-om,” Clara whined, rolling her eyes. But she gave in, knowing her mother wouldn’t let up until she found out what she wanted to know. “Yes, Lou is handsome. And rude, pigheaded, domineering… brilliant.” Mom gave her a knowing look. Clara cleared her throat. “But it’s just business. We’re there to try and get an interview with Lex Luthor.”  
  
“Uh huh,” Mom said, in a way that told Clara she wasn’t buying it.  
  
Clara took refuge in hemming the skirt of her dress at super speed, though she was forced to slow down once or twice to keep the thread from tangling.  
  
“Good job, honey!” Mom inspected the stitches once she’d finished. “You’ve been practicing.”  
  
Then Daddy was shouting up the stairs, wondering where everyone was, and Clara had to go through the whole explanation of the ball again, except this time with a lot more questions about Lou and his intentions.  
  
“I’ve got to go if I’m going to be ready on time, Daddy,” Clara fought to extricate herself, leaning up to kiss Jonathon on the cheek. Quickly, she folded up her dress and made for the nearest window. “I’ll see you guys next week for dinner. Promise.”  
  
The last thing she heard was her father shouting, “You make sure this Lou character knows you’re not that kind of girl!” and her mom admonishing, “Jonathon, it’s a new age. She can be that kind of girl if she wants, and it’s none of our business.”  
  
-l-  
  
Clara landed on the roof of Cat’s apartment building, and finger-combed her hair, glad that whatever made it impervious to everything but heat vision also made it tangle-free. She’d need to cut it soon, she mused. It was ridiculously long again, reaching her waist. She was lazy about cutting it, since it involved setting up angled mirrors. And most people never noticed how long it was anyway, the way she wore it braided and pinned.  
  
Once she was presentable, she made her way down the stairs to Cat’s apartment, where Cat loaned her a strapless bra and they had fun picking shades of lipstick and styling their hair. Clara hadn’t felt so much like a girl since she was back in Smallville, having sleepovers with Rachel Harris.  
  
It felt good to have a friend.  
  
“Now, Clara, do you absolutely need those glasses to see? It’s just that the frames are so thick, it really distracts from your face.”  
  
Clara fiddled with the glasses, torn. There was lead in the lenses, to help her remember not to look through things. Her parents had gotten them for her when she was fourteen and accidentally saw through the shower stalls during gym. The frames were thick because they had to be, to support the heavy lenses.  
  
But she hadn’t had trouble controlling her powers in a really long time… and Cat had already seen her moving around the apartment without them on, while they were putting on make-up.  
  
Making a decision, Clara took the glasses off and put them in her purse. “I don’t absolutely need them. I can see well enough to get around, I just won’t be able to see details.”  
  
There. That would give her an excuse to still wear them around work, but made it believable she could go an evening without them.  
  
There was a knock at the door.  
  
“Ooh, that must be Lou!” The slightly older woman seemed almost as excited as Clara was.  
  
 _This is not a date. This is not a date,_  Clara repeated to herself as she went to open the door.  
  
Lou stood at the threshold, looking absolutely breathtaking in his tuxedo. Clara stared, taking in broad shoulders and trim, narrow waist. Abruptly, she realized she was floating, just a little bit, and was profoundly grateful that her dress hid her feet. She tried to subtly bring herself back down to earth.  
  
-l-  
  
Louis was speechless. Who knew that Clara Kent was hiding this… this… supermodel underneath her frumpy clothes and glasses Bill Gates wouldn’t be caught dead wearing?  
  
Her hair was pinned up into some sort of tumble of curls on the top of her head, she wasn’t wearing the glasses, and her figure... Those breasts… The flair of fabric around her hips… just.   
  
Wow.  
  
Louis cleared his throat, reminding himself that this was just business, and even if Clara Kent was a knock out, he was no good for her. So he’d best keep his distance.  
  
“Come on, Kent. I want to have time to strategize before we get there.”  
  
Clara smiled, and Louis’ heart gave an absurd flutter.  _Stop that,_  he told it.  _We’d ruin her._  
  
He ushered Clara before him, telling her the cab was waiting.   
  
“Hey Louis.”  
  
Louis turned, to see Cat watching him from the center of her living room. “Treat her right.”  
  
He nodded, and left the apartment with the odd feeling that he and Cat Grant had just formed some sort of pact to look after Clara Kent.  
  
-l-  
  
Louis spent the cab ride to Lexcorp coaching Clara.   
  
“I bribed one of the party planners. Luthor is going to enter from the stairs on the left. So we’re going to position you right in his sightline. I’ll stand a bit behind you, not immediately noticeable, but present enough that Luthor might be drawn to the opportunity to steal you from me.” Louis grinned. “When he appears, I want you to say, ‘Lex Luthor, why haven’t you been returning my phone calls?’”  
  
“Lex Luthor, why haven’t you been returning my phone calls?” Clara repeated, sounding polite. Worried about Luthor’s health, even.  
  
“No, you’ll never get his attention that way. More… forceful. He likes strong women.” Louis looked Clara up and down. “You’ll have to fake it.”  
  
“Hey! Lou! What is that supposed to mean?”  
  
Louis laughed. “Yes! Just like that. Say your line.”  
  
Clara glared, but said, “Lex Luthor, why haven’t you been returning my phone calls?”  
  
“Perfect! Once he comes over, give him your hand and introduce yourself. Then introduce me. I’ll take it from there.”  
  
Clara looked down, clasping her hands together. “I don’t know about this, Lou.”  
  
Louis found he didn’t mind the nickname, coming from her. He wasn’t sure why, but when she said it, it just sounded… comfy. He’d always hated it, because ‘Lou’ sounded like the sort of name a plumber or a mechanic might have. Not an investigative reporter. But on Clara’s lips… it was just different, that was all.  
  
Maybe it was because she was from Kansas.  
  
“This is going to work, Clara. All you have to do is say your line, and get Luthor to come over to us. I’ll handle everything else and you can go gossip with Cat or whatever it is you two do.”  
  
That earned him another hard look from Clara. “I’m staying. If I’m helping you get to Luthor, I should get some of the credit.”  
  
Louis felt his hands curl into fists. “Look, I have been trying to get this interview for over a year, so if you think that you’re just going to waltz in there and – ”  
  
“I’m waltzing in there because you asked me to, Lou,” Clara said calmly. Way, way too calmly. What was she, a Child of the Corn? Why wouldn’t she  _fight back_? It made it hard to keep yelling at her, when she was so passive. “All I’m saying is, if you’ve been trying for a year to get an interview, and you succeed tonight because of my help, I should get to stay.”  
  
This is what he got for bringing another journalist as his date. He should have called an escort service.  
  
“I’m not sharing the byline.”  
  
“I’ll take ‘by Louis Lane with special contributions from Clara Kent.’”  
  
Louis narrowed his eyes, staring Clara down.  
  
She never blinked.  
  
“Fine,” he spat. “If we get anything, you can have ‘special contributions.’”  
  
“Thank you,” Clara said cheerfully, with a smile. Like she hadn’t just weaseled something out of Louis that he would normally never give up.  
  
But he needed her for his plan to get to Luthor to work.  
  
It occurred to him that Clara might not be as naïve as she first appeared. He’d have to keep an eye on her.  
  
But he’d worry about that later.  
  
They were at Lex Tower.  
  
-l-  
  
Clara got into position by the stairs, just like Lou had told her. She wasn’t quite sure this was ethical, using her feminine wiles to lure Lex Luthor into an ambush, but she’d already agreed to it. There was no backing out now.  
  
It was weird to think she had any feminine wiles at all. It was mostly the dress, she knew.  
  
 _But Lou said I was pretty before he ever saw the dress… Well. Indirectly, at least._  
  
Then she had no more time to think about it. A flash of lightning made Clara realize that there was a man, presumably Lex Luthor, standing at the top of the stairs, and she had missed her cue.  
  
“Lex,” she started, her mouth dry and voice barely more than a whisper. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Lex Luthor, why haven’t you been returning my phone calls?”  
  
The man came down the stairs. He was debonair in his tuxedo, possessing a cultured face and hair a shade between chestnut brown and honey blond. His blue eyes twinkled, and Clara couldn’t keep herself from smiling. Lex Luthor was exactly her type. She usually went for older blond men with strong features, and Lex was absolutely that…  
  
And yet somehow, Lou looked better in a tux.  
  
Lex stopped in front of Clara, and she offered him her hand. He kissed it, sending a thrill down her spine. “Lex Luthor. And you are…?”  
  
“Oh,” Clara blushed, well aware that even the tops of her breasts were turning red. She hoped that Lex wouldn’t think her uncultured. The truth was just the opposite. She’d traveled all over the world. “Clara Kent, Daily Planet.”  
  
A throat cleared behind her, and she pulled her hand away from Lex, remembering the plan. “This is my partner, Louis Lane.”  
  
Lex didn’t even look at Lou. “Ah, yes, Mr. Lane. I’m familiar with your work. But you, Ms. Kent… You must be new. Surely I wouldn’t be able to overlook such a beautiful creature, even at a press conference.”  
  
Clara laughed. “Mr. Luthor! You scoundrel! That’s one of the cheesiest things anyone has ever said to me!”  
  
Lou scowled, though whether it was because he was being ignored or because of what Clara’d just said, she didn’t know.  
  
 _Oh God, I’m an idiot. I just called the third richest man in the world a cheesy scoundrel._  
  
Lex threw his head back and laughed, apparently delighted by her audacity.   
  
“Mr. Luthor,” Lou started, but Lex didn’t give him a chance to finish.  
  
“May I have this dance?” he held a hand out to Clara.  
  
Clara spared a glance in Lou’s direction, and couldn’t tell if his scowl meant she should dance, or shouldn’t. She decided that she would, because after all she didn’t want to offend Mr. Luthor. And he was being much better company than Lou, anyway.  
  
“I’d love to, Mr. Luthor,” Clara said, putting her hand in his.  
  
“Please, call me Lex,” he said, as he led her out to the dance floor and they began to waltz.  
  
“Lex,” Clara smiled.  
  
They fell into step easily, both of them very good dancers, though Clara was cheating a little by occasionally hovering. She’d been a dancer since she was a little girl, but paranoia made her wary of tripping. She was a lot heavier than she looked, and it would raise questions if a woman as small as her managed to knock over Lex Luthor.   
  
“Where did you learn to waltz?” Lex asked.  
  
“From a Nigerian princess,” Clara said proudly, glad she had an opportunity to show him that she wasn’t, as Lou said, right off the turnip cart.  
  
“Really?” Lex’s brows rose. “I admit I’m intrigued.”  
  
“I did some traveling before taking a job at the Daily Planet. Adanma’s family hired me to teach her English, and when she needed a partner for her ballroom dancing lessons, I was around.” She smiled. “We had to take turns leading.”  
  
“So do you speak Yoruba?” Lex asked, naming the most popular dialect spoken in Nigeria.  
  
Clara nodded. “Yes, but Adanma's family spoke Hausa, which I also know. In fact, I can order dinner in three hundred and fifty-seven languages. I can speak about twenty of those well enough to get around. And about ten fluently, though my accents aren’t all that great.”  
  
Lex fixed her with an intense look. Clara felt herself go tongue-tied again, a ball of nerves tightening in her gut.  
  
“You are a singular woman, Clara Kent,” Lex said in French.  
  
“Thank you, Lex,” Clara answered in the same language. “You’re a very charming man.”  
  
Lex switched to Italian. “I’m impressed. And that doesn’t happen very often.”  
  
Without missing a beat, Clara picked up the new language, starting to enjoy the game. “You’re pretty impressive yourself, though maybe I’m more easily impressed.”  
  
Chinese now. “Are you teasing me, Ms. Kent?”  
  
“Maybe a little,” she answered in Japanese, testing him.  
  
“And now you are challenging me?” Lex said in Japanese.  
  
Clara laughed, saying again, “Maybe a little.”  
  
Before their game could continue, Lou was there, blocking their way across the ballroom. “May I cut in?” he asked.  
  
For a second, Clara thought he meant that he wanted to dance with Luthor. New Troy was a liberal state, after all, and Lou had said he’d do whatever it took to get a story.  
  
But then Lou held out his hand, and Lex was reluctantly passing Clara over. “Of course. I have an announcement I must prepare for at any rate.”   
  
He turned away from Lou, meeting Clara’s eyes. “I very much enjoyed meeting you, Ms. Kent.”  
  
“Please, call me Clara.”  
  
“Clara,” Lex smiled. “May I call you some time?”  
  
Clara smiled and asked Lou for one of his business cards. “Sure, Lex! I’d like that. I don’t have a permanent number of my own yet, but if you call Lou, he’ll make sure I get your message.”  
  
Lex took the card and tucked it into his pocket. “Excellent. I’ll speak with you soon then.” He nodded to Lou. “Mr. Lane.”  
  
And then he was gone.  
  
Lou haphazardly pulled Clara into a waltz. She had to levitate to keep from tripping on her skirt.  
  
“What are you playing at?” Lou demanded.  
  
Clara blinked. “What?”  
  
“The only reason you got anywhere near Luthor tonight is because I brought you, and then you bat your eyes and have him eating out of the palm of your hand, and you go off dancing with him where I can’t hear what you’re saying. You’re trying to cut me out, and I won’t have it, Kent.”  
  
Clara was stung that Lou thought so little of her that he suspected she was trying to steal his story, but then she remembered the piece about the theatre. She  _had_  stolen that, sort of, even if Lou didn’t want the assignment.  
  
No wonder he was suspicious of her.  
  
Clara took a deep breath. “I’m not trying to cut you out, Lou. I just didn’t want to offend Lex, and I don’t know what else you expected me to do when he asked me to dance. Should I have told him no and demanded he talk to you?”  
  
“Yes! No! I…” Lou huffed. He had quite a temper, but Clara thought he was more bluster than anything else. Lou took a deep breath. “What’d you find out?”  
  
“He can waltz. He speaks French, Italian, Chinese, and Japanese. He’s not easily impressed.”  
  
“That it? Some reporter you are.”  
  
Clara frowned, stopping and inadvertently making Lou stumble when he was unable to budge her into the next step of the dance. “I wasn’t interviewing him, Lou. We were just chatting. It was nice.  _Lex_  is nice.”  
  
Unspoken went the words,  _You aren’t nice to me, Lou._  
  
Lou stared at her. Then he said, “Nice will get you eaten alive in this town.”  
  
Clara shrugged. “I’ve been to plenty of places where being eaten alive is a real possibility, and I’m still here.”  
  
Lou looked down at her, meeting her eyes, assessing how serious she was. Then he nodded, seeming to come to a decision. “Come on.”  
  
He strode off, and Clara had no choice but to follow.  
  
Or well, she guessed she could have gone to find Lex, but that would have probably made Lou suspicious of her all over again, and she’d rather see what Lou was doing anyway.  
  
Lou opened a door at the far side of the ballroom, and Clara followed him through a dark hall and another door. Once her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she could see they were in some kind of private office.  
  
“Lou,” she hissed. “We shouldn’t be here! What are you doing?”  
  
Lou started rifling through the drawers of the desk. Clara looked between him and the door, frozen with anxiety.  
  
“I’m being a reporter,” Lou said, not even bothering to whisper. “You should try it sometime.”  
  
Lou moved on from the desk, examining a short sword that was displayed on a stand on one of the bookshelves. Clara moved further into the room. “Lou! Put that down. Who knows how much it cost…”  
  
The lights flicked on, illuminating the richly appointed room. The oak panels and leather upholstery had Lex Luthor written all over them. Clara squeezed her eyes shut, counted to three, and turned towards the door.  
  
“Lex,” she said brightly, knowing how bad this looked.  
  
Lex came forward and took the sword from Lou’s hands.  
  
“Macedonian?” Clara babbled, hoping to distract Lex from the fact that they’d been snooping in his office, and after he’d been so kind. “It’s a beautiful piece, Lex. And this is a beautiful office. Actually, the whole tower is beautiful, just beautiful…” she trailed off. Lou looked annoyed. Lex looked bemused. He offered her a small smile.  
  
“I hope you don’t mind us looking around,” Lou’s voice broke the silence.  
  
Lex ignored him. Sword still in hand, he motioned Clara over to a glass door that she could see led out to a balcony. “Have you seen the view from here? This is the tallest building in Metropolis. I must confess a certain pleasure in knowing that everyone in the city has to look up in order to see me."  
  
It was a breathtaking view. Clara would love to live somewhere with a balcony like this. It would be like having her own personal landing pad.  
  
She wondered if Lex would like flying. Would Lou?  
  
Not that she could ever show them, of course.  
  
Lex held out the antique short sword, leveling it at Lou and looking at him down the blade. “This sword belonged to Alexander the Great. With it he defeated Darius III – ”  
  
“And proclaimed himself King of Asia?” Clara finished, breathless, itching to touch the sword now.  
  
Lex smiled at her, and held out the blade, letting her take the hilt. “You impress me again, Clara. You’re always welcome in Lex Tower.”  
  
It was plain that the sentiment did not include Lou.  
  
Once Clara had returned the sword to its display stand, Lex ushered them back toward the ballroom. “Come, Mr. Lane. I have a feeling my announcement is going to interest you.”


	3. A Change of Clothes

After watching Lex’s presentation about the proposed Space Station Luthor, Clara and Lou took a cab back to Cat’s place so that Clara could get her things. Lou insisted on waiting in the cab and seeing Clara all the way back to her hotel. Clara tried to wave him off, saying she’d be fine, but Lou just looked grumpy and mumbled, “If some guy left my sister to fend for herself in the city at this time of night, he’d be getting a visit from me the next day.”  
  
Since there seemed to be no way to change Lou’s mind, short of revealing her superpowers, Clara agreed. 

Surprisingly, Cat was lying in wait.

"Cat? I thought you'd still be at the ball to get interviews for Cat's Corner."

Cat smiled. "Honey, you danced with Lex Luthor. You _are_ Cat's Corner."

Cat held Clara’s purse hostage until Clara promised to have lunch the next day and ‘dish the dirt.’ Some good natured teasing followed when Clara revealed that Lou was waiting for her downstairs, and then she was trotting outside and sliding back into the cab next to Lou.  
  
When she gave the address of her hotel, Lou stared at her.  
  
Feeling exposed, Clara fished her glasses out of her purse and put them on, taking refuge behind the thick lenses. It didn’t help much. Finally, she couldn’t take the look Lou was giving her anymore.  
  
“What is it?”  
  
Lou didn’t bother to pretend he didn’t know what she was talking about. “You’re really staying in that part of town?”  
  
“Yes. I haven’t had a chance to find an apartment yet.”  
  
“By yourself?”  
  
Clara crossed her arms, huffing. “Yes, Lou. By myself. I’ve traveled all over the world by myself, a stay in an admittedly shady Metropolis motel isn’t going to kill me.”  
  
Lou’s brow furrowed. “No, but the gangs having a turf war two blocks down the street might.”  
  
There was nothing Clara could say to that that would make any sense, so she didn’t. The rest of the ride to the hotel was achieved in silence.  
  
When she got out of the cab, Lou insisted on walking with her to her room, which would be sweet if she wasn’t so worried that  _he_  would get hurt. After all, a stray bullet couldn’t do much to Clara, but Lou was a different story. And what if they got mugged? Would Lou try to protect her?  
  
They made it to her door without incident, Clara unlocking the single deadbolt and Lou slipping inside the room uninvited, prowling around like he expected ninjas to be hiding behind the curtains. He pointed to Clara’s suitcase, the battered old thing with her initials engraved on it. She’d had that suitcase since the very first time she left Smallville to go to dance camp in Wichita.   
  
“Is that everything?” Lou asked.   
  
Clara blinked, not sure why he wanted to know. “Just that and my laptop.”  
  
Lou nodded, one of those stubborn looks Clara was starting to recognize crossing his face, and then he picked up the suitcase. “Get your laptop and anything else you need. You’re coming home with me.”  
  
Clara’s mouth fell open.   
  
Seeming to realize what he’d just said, Lou looked away, clearing his throat. “Not like that, Farm Girl. It won’t just be us. My little sister Lucy lives with me. You can bunk with her until we find you a place to stay that isn’t going to end with me identifying your corpse.”  
  
Wow.   
  
Lou really was a softy underneath all that macho posturing. But Clara frowned. Staying with people would mean she had to be more careful of using her powers, and she had promised her parents she would fly out soon…  
  
“I don’t know, Lou. I don’t want to impose on you or your sister.”  
  
Lou let out a gusty sigh. “Look, Kent, here’s the deal. I’m not leaving here tonight without you. Now, you can walk beside me, or I can throw you over my shoulder. Your choice.”  
  
Clara started to protest, terrified of what would happen if Lou tried to pick her up and discovered she weighed close to two hundred pounds, but Lou kept talking.  
  
“And if you really don’t want to stay with me, you can find somewhere else, so long as it’s not here.” He scowled. “Maybe if you call Luthor he’ll give you a room at the Lexor.”  
  
Clara rolled her eyes. “Lou-is! I can’t afford the Lexor until my first paycheck, and I couldn’t just ask Lex for a free room.”  
  
Lou snorted. “From what I saw tonight, you could ask Luthor for a lot of things.”  
  
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were jealous.”  
  
Lou gave her a hard stare, and then he turned toward the door. “Don’t flatter yourself. Now get your stuff and come on. The cabbie won’t wait forever.”  
  
And that was how Clara Kent found herself going home with Louis Lane.  
  
-l-  
  
Louis really wasn’t sure how he’d ended up ushering Little Miss Supermodel Sunshine into his apartment, but here he was, carrying her suitcase and her laptop, and telling her where the kitchen and bathroom were.  
  
“There’s a pull out mattress under Lucy’s bed for guests, so we’ll get you set up there.”  
  
Clara lightly touched his arm, smiling up at him. She was a disconcerting mixture of mousy farm girl and scarlet siren, wearing her glasses with that evening dress. “You’re a good man, Lou,” she said to him, a curl from her updo flopping onto her forehead.   
  
Not sure what to say, Louis just nodded and set Clara’s suitcase down by one of his sofas. He was just about to go see if Lucy was still awake, when she came bounding into the room.  
  
“Louie! I stayed up because I want to hear all about the ball and – ” her eyes lit on Clara, and she stopped mid-sentence, looking between them and giving Louis a not-so-subtle grin. “Oh, should I make myself scarce? I could totally be sleepwalking right now.”  
  
Louis rolled his eyes, not daring to look at Clara. “Lucy, this is a colleague from the Daily Planet, Clara Kent. She’s helping me with some stories, and she’s going to be staying with us a few days until she finds her own place. Clara, my sister Lucy.”  
  
Clara stepped forward and shook Lucy’s hand. “I’m new at the Daily Planet and Lou didn’t approve of my hotel,” she said.  
  
Lucy giggled, but she was looking at Louis out of the corner of her eye, and he knew she’d noticed that he let Clara call him ‘Lou.’ “Louie doesn’t approve of a lot of things. Let me guess – ‘No woman should be out this late on her own, the rapists and gangs and mobsters will get you.’”  
  
Clara laughed. “Pretty much.”  
  
“God, he is such a  _big brother_.”  
  
“Tell me about it.”  
  
“He,” Louis butt in, “is standing right here.”  
  
It didn’t matter. They were already chattering away, Clara collecting her suitcase as Lucy led her to the bedroom they would share. “This is going to be so fun! I’ve never had a roommate before. Louie won’t let me stay in the dorms because he’d worry where I was all hours of the night, and I haven’t had a sleepover since high school! Oh, and you can tell me about the ball. You went, right? I mean, why else would you be dressed like that. I bet you had more fun than Louie, he’s always working. Who did you dance with?”  
  
“Believe it or not, I danced with Lex Luthor.”  
  
“Oh wow! What’s he like? Did he step on your feet? Did you feel like Cinderella? I’d have felt like Cinderella.”  
  
“He was very charming, a very good dancer, and yes… I did feel a little like Cinderella.”  
  
“Did you dance with anyone else?”  
  
“Your brother.”  
  
An excited squeal drifted down the hallway. Louis sank down onto one of his admittedly uncomfortable sofas, and put his head in his hands.   
  
He could just make out Lucy asking Clara whether she preferred him to Lex Luthor, and Clara replying, “You know, I think I do.”  
  
Wincing, Louis thought back to how he’d treated her tonight, concluding that she was probably too polite to badmouth him to his sister. On the heels of that thought came the realization that he didn’t want Clara to have to lie to Lucy about his behavior towards her.  
  
He’d never been in this position before. He’d always been very careful to keep the women in his life away from Lucy, not wanting to put her through anything at all resembling their parents’ divorce when the inevitable breakups occurred. Of course, Clara was a colleague, not a girlfriend. But still.  
  
He’d treat her better from now on. For Lucy’s sake.  
  
So long as she kept her mitts off his stories, that is.  
  
-l-  
  
With two women in residence, getting ready for work in the morning turned into something resembling an Olympic sport. There was the hundred yard dash to the bathroom, the obstacle course of feminine paraphernalia that had been scattered across the apartment, and the fight to the death for the first cup of coffee.  
  
Louis won the bathroom first, on the grounds that he’d be done in ten minutes, tops, and then Lucy went next because she had an early class. Clara got the bathroom last, and was still showering when Hurricane Lucy went through the kitchen on her way to the front door.  
  
“Do you have your keys?” Louis asked, watching Lucy shove a piece of toast in her mouth and fill a thermos with coffee.  
  
“Yes, Louie.”  
  
“Bus pass?”  
  
Lucy grabbed her books and slung her messenger bag over her shoulder. “Yes, Louie.”  
  
“Subway tokens?”  
  
“Yes, Louie!”  
  
Louis smiled. “Pepper spray?”  
  
Lucy rolled her eyes. “Yes, Louie. Anything else? In case you’re wondering, yes, I am wearing underwear.”  
  
Louis made a show of looking her up and down, inspecting, and then frowned. “I don’t remember you having that shirt.”  
  
“It’s a blouse, and it’s Clara’s. She said we could share while she’s here.”  
  
Louis sighed. “And of course, you immediately took her up on it.”  
  
Lucy grinned an unrepentant grin, and kissed him on the cheek. “See you later, Louie.”  
  
Louis watched Lucy leave, finishing his coffee and choking down a frozen breakfast burrito while he waited on Clara.  
  
When the microwave clock ticked over to eighteen after nine, he started to get antsy. He went and knocked on the bathroom door. After a second, Clara opened it.  
  
In nothing but a towel.   
  
The terry cloth hugged her breasts, and left her long, long legs completely bare.  
  
Damn, those were some long legs.  
  
Clara cleared her throat, and Louis dragged his eyes back up. “I said nine, I thought you’d be naked. Ready! I thought you’d be ready.”  
  
Clara smiled somewhat shyly and Louis turned his back, already imagining the sexual harassment complaint she could bring.  
  
 _But Perry! I couldn’t help it, those were the longest, shapeliest legs I’ve ever seen._  
  
Yeah.  
  
“I was putting my make-up on,” Clara said. Louis still didn’t turn around. “I just need to go get dressed. I’ll only be a minute.”  
  
He heard her footsteps padding down the hall, and released a breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding. He needed to find her somewhere else to live, pronto.  
  
Maybe Cat would take her.  
  
But Lucy seems to enjoy having her here…  
  
He could delay asking Cat a few days. Purely for Lucy's sake, of course.  
  
He wondered if Clara would notice if all his towels mysteriously shrank, then he shook himself and returned to the kitchen.  
  
-l-  
  
Clara and Lou decided to walk to the Daily Planet. Normally, Clara would have flown, but on such a pretty day, walking with Lou was even better.  
  
Seeing him with Lucy had done a lot to help her understand him. It was clear to her that he loved his little sister very much, and that he was taking care of her as best he could. She wondered where their parents were, but after what Cat said didn’t want to broach a potentially touchy subject. Not when she and Lou seemed to be getting along.   
  
She couldn’t imagine Lou ever treating Lucy badly, or even like the way he’d treated Clara yesterday. So she concluded that the way he acted at work was just that, an act. A veneer of seen it-done it-wrote-the-story-got-the-t-shirt that he used to protect the sensitive guy who let his sister live with him rent free, and paid part of her college tuition so that she wouldn’t have to get too far in debt.  
  
“Dad’s got money,” Lucy had confided. “But he’ll only pay if I go to medical school. Louie said I should do what I want, and he’ll help me. Right now I’m just taking the core classes. I’m not really sure what I want to do yet. Maybe advertising or something, so I can work at the Daily Planet, like you and Louie.”  
  
There was a commotion ahead of them, and Clara looked up, looking over her glasses so she could use her special vision.  
  
“Help! He fell in, we can’t get to him!”  
  
Through the rising smoke and crumbled concrete, Clara saw a city worker trapped below street level, curled in on himself and coughing. Glancing around, Clara made sure no one would see, and then super sped over to a manhole cover and disappeared down it.  
  
A quick burst of strength shifted the debris from the collapsed section of road, and then she had the trapped worker by the waist and she was lifting him up through the hole. Once his coworkers had a good grip on him, Clara went back the way she came, reappearing beside Lou.  
  
The whole rescue took only a few seconds.  
  
“An angel!” the rescued man was gasping. “An angel appeared and saved me!”  
  
He looked up and saw Clara in the crowd. “Her! That woman! She’s my angel!”  
  
Beside her, Lou snorted. “He must have hit his head.”  
  
He looked at Clara. “What happened to you? Did you get caught in the smoke?”  
  
Clara looked down and saw that her suit was covered in road grease, and her shoes were absolutely ruined.  
  
“From now on, do what I do,” Lou advised. “Keep a change of clothes at work.”  
  
Like lightning striking from above, Clara had a dangerous idea.  
  
-l-  
  
“And the man, he recognized you? Did anyone believe him?” Jonathan Kent demanded.  
  
As soon as she’d gotten a chance, Clara had sequestered herself in one of the Daily Planet’s conference rooms to call her parents, keeping half an ear out to make sure no one would overhear her talking about her powers.  
  
“Well what was she supposed to do, Jonathon, let the man die?” Martha Kent interrupted. “Clara, how was the ball, honey? Did Louis like your dress?”  
  
“Don’t change the subject!”  
  
“Daddy, I know you’re worried,” Clara interjected before her dad could get into his ‘dissected like a frog’ speech. “But I’ve been thinking about this. Something Louis said, after the thing with the manhole. A change of clothes. I think I need some kind of uniform or disguise or something. We could make it together, Mom.”  
  
Jimmy knocked on the conference room door. “I’ve got to go, Mom. But I’ll fly out later, and we can look through that big bundle of fabric left over from when we made Halloween costumes for the Irigs’ grandkids.”  
  
With that, she hung up the phone and gestured for Jimmy to come in the conference room. “What’s up, Jim?”  
  
“Luthor’s proposal for a private space station has been rejected. They just announced it on LNN. Louis is going nuts trying to make sense of Platt’s report. You’d better get out here.”  
  
“Okay, on my way.”  
  
Clara wondered how Lex was taking the news. He was probably upset. He’d seemed pretty excited about Space Station Luthor. But in spite of his feelings, Clara was glad the proposal was rejected. It just seemed to her that it would be better if the space station wasn’t privately owned. That way, any medicines developed would be under the public domain.  
  
Of course, Lex was a great philanthropist, and he had employees to pay, but still. He was a businessman, and Clara had always felt that health care shouldn’t be about business.  
  
Maybe she’d take him some cookies or something, if she saw him again. Then she smiled, shaking her head at the idea. Maybe she’d do it just to see the look on his face.  
  
-l-  
  
An interminable number of hours later, Clara and Lou were still no closer to deciphering Dr. Platt’s report. Clara had even snuck into the conference room to thumb through the pages at super speed, but she understood just enough of the science to continually question what order she’d tried to put the pages in.  
  
With a sigh of frustration, Clara pushed back one of the tendrils of hair that had escaped from her braid, and stood up. “I’m going to go get some Chinese. You want anything?”  
  
Lou looked up from his piles of papers, and then checked his watch. He’d long since taken off his suit jacket, and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. Clara tried not to stare at his muscular forearms.  
  
“It’s after nine,” Lou observed.  
  
Clara waited to see if there was more to that statement. “And you don’t eat Chinese after nine?”  
  
Lou frowned at her like she was being purposefully obtuse. “No, you shouldn’t be going out in the city at this time of night by yourself. Look, Kent, this isn’t Nebraska – ”  
  
“Kansas.”  
  
“Whatever. The point is, this is Metropolis, and you are a petite, attractive woman. You go out on these streets alone at this time of night, and sooner or later someone is going to hurt you. And then, if by some miracle you live through it, instead of trying to catch your attacker the authorities are going to keep asking what you were wearing and why you were out alone, like it’s your fault.”  
  
Clara raised her eyebrows, touched by Lou’s concern. “This sounds personal for you.”  
  
“I wrote a series on crimes perpetuated against women after one of Lucy’s college friends was mugged,” Lou said gruffly, shuffling the papers in front of him. He cleared his throat. “If you’re hungry, have something delivered here. I do it all the time.”  
  
Smiling, Clara crossed to Lou’s desk and patted one of his enticingly bare forearms. “I know a Chinese place that delivers. I’ll order something for both of us and wait for our order in the lobby.”  
  
With that, she headed for the elevator.   
  
“Don’t you want to know what I want?” Lou called.  
  
“I’ll get an assortment!”  
  
There was a pause. “And you won’t go out?” Lou’s eyes were narrow with suspicion. Clara wondered if Lucy often broke promises not to venture out after dark.   
  
“My feet will not touch the ground outside this building,” Clara said.  
  
She took the stairs instead of the elevator, so she could go up to the roof without Lou noticing. From there, it was a quick flight to China.  
  
-l-  
  
Fifteen minutes later, Clara exited the elevator with a stack of bamboo boxes filled with her favorites from Shanghai. Setting the boxes down on a corner of Lou’s desk, she retrieved her chair so that she could sit close enough to share with him, watching as he opened the boxes and ate a dumpling.  
  
“This is out of this world.” Lou closed his eyes in bliss and Clara couldn’t stop the sappy smile that crossed her face.  
  
Lou had to be one of the most complicated men she’d ever met. Every time she thought she had a handle on him, he revealed another side. At first she’d been awed, maybe had a case of hero worship when she met the great Louis Lane. She’d always admired his work, but when she first saw him it was like… well not exactly like a lightning strike. It was gentler than that. A sudden sense of recognition, like something inside her had said _Oh, there you are. Where have you been?_  
  
Then she’d been disappointed with his personality and apparent dislike of her, though still grudgingly respectful and impressed by his resourcefulness. And then Lou had insisted that she come home with him – for her own safety – and he’d been a perfect gentleman, and Clara had met Lucy, and just now he’d taken the time to make sure she was safe again…  
  
He wasn’t exactly Prince Charming. He was too prickly for that. But maybe, just maybe, he could be Clara’s White Knight.  
  
Lou met her eyes, and Clara realized she’d been staring at him. She blushed, but didn’t look away.  
  
A teasing note in his tone, at odds with the serious expression on his face, Lou said, “Don’t fall for me, Farm Girl. I’m no good for you.”  
  
Clara’s blush intensified, but somewhere she found the gumption to say, “That’s exactly the wrong thing to say to girls if you don’t want them to fall for you, Lou. Don’t you know we can’t resist bad boys?”  
  
Lou snorted. Clara leaned forward eagerly, waiting for his comeback.  
  
“Is that what I am? A bad boy?”  
  
Clara giggled. “I was thinking White Knight. But now… Maybe you’re more Black Knight.”  
  
Lou’s brows rose into his hairline. “You’re a strange one, Clara Kent.”  
  
“Oh?”  
  
“Yeah. It works for you though.” Lou rustled around in the last bamboo box, pulling out a fortune cookie and cracking it open. “Hey, this is in Chinese…”  
  
Clara took it from him, feeling a spark of electricity where her fingers brushed his. “A Good Horse is Like a Member of the Family.”  
  
Lou gave her a blank stare. Then he blinked, snapping out of it, and started to gather up the pages of Platt’s report. “Get your coat, Farm Girl. I think the only person who’s going to be able to make sense of this is Platt himself.”  
  
-l-  
  
When they arrived at Dr. Platt’s apartment, the front door was cracked open. Lou held a finger to his lips, and then he looked between the door and Clara, clearly torn between taking her inside or leaving her alone on the stoop. He couldn’t know that Clara was far safer than he would ever be.  
  
“I’ll stay behind you, I promise,” Clara whispered to put his mind at ease. She was fast enough that she’d be able to get him out of harm’s way if there was something wrong inside.  
  
Together, they crept into the dark apartment.  
  
“Dr. Platt?” Lou called, his body angled to protect Clara.  
  
No answer.  
  
Lou found a switch and flipped it, flooding the apartment with harsh yellow light.  
  
And revealing Dr. Platt, his face set in an expression of horror, his feet in a tub of water and a bare wire in his hands, still throwing sparks.  
  
Clara gasped and started toward the man, but Lou held her back, pointing out the water on the floor. She hadn’t even considered the possibility of electrocution – she couldn’t be electrocuted. She’d learned that the time she’d accidentally flown into a power line.  
  
“Don’t look, Clara,” Lou said, pulling her into his arms, pressing her face against his broad chest. From the tremor in his voice, Clara thought he was just as shaken as she was, but his first instinct was to be strong for her.  
  
So Clara let him hold her. His arms felt nice around her shoulders, and she wrapped hers around his waist, inhaling his scent. He smelled like ink and some kind of cologne.   
  
One of them was trembling. Clara didn’t know which one.   
  
Eventually, Clara said, “We should call the police.”  
  
“Yes, we should.” But Lou still didn’t let go of her. That was okay. Clara wasn’t ready to let go either.  
  
They held hands on the way to the payphone, during the call to the police, and all the way back to the crime scene, neither of them commenting on it. They didn’t let go until two squad cars pulled up and some uniformed officers got out, followed by a plainclothes detective who introduced himself to Clara as Henderson, and a forensic tech.  
  
They followed Inspector Henderson back inside, answering questions about what they were doing there and how they’d found Platt.  
  
“Looks like suicide,” Henderson said, taking in the room. “There’s no sign of forced entry, no sign of struggle, no one saw anyone coming in or out…”  
  
Lou scowled. “But we were on the verge of proving that something he was working on was right. It makes no sense that he would – ”  
  
“Man’s gonna barbecue himself, he should use sauce,” one of the uniformed cops said, laughing at his own joke.  
  
“The man’s name was Samuel Platt!” Clara burst, outraged. How dare this man make light of the loss of a life? How dare he act like it didn't matter? Like it was fine that no one had saved Platt.  
  
Fine that Clara hadn’t saved Platt.  
  
“He was a brilliant scientist and he cared about others,” Clara went on, needing to say it out loud, needing everyone to hear who this man was. “Under the circumstances, I don’t think that kind of humor is appropriate.”  
  
The cop looked taken aback, and the he glanced past Clara, at Lou. “Hey buddy, you wanna come over here and get your girlfriend? She’s hysterical.”   
  
For one terrible fraction of a second, Clara wanted nothing more than to slap the grin off the cop’s face. Her hands clenched into fists.  
  
“Calm down, Farm Girl,” came a soothing voice in her ear. “He’s not worth it.”  
  
Lou.  
  
Clara took a deep breath. She couldn’t slap this man. She couldn’t lose her temper. She could  _never_  lose her temper. It would be so easy for her to hurt, or even kill someone accidentally.  
  
Lou put a hand on her shoulder, and Clara leaned back against him, letting him be the protector, the Black Knight he seemed so eager to be. “Make another remark like that,” Lou said acidly to the cop, “and I won’t save you from her.”  
  
There was a beat of silence, and then Henderson said, “Sorry about that. Some of my guys really are pigs. Anyway, we tracked down Platt’s wife and kid. You know about them?”  
  
Clara thought of the insensitive attitude of the cop. “If it’s alright, I’d like to contact them myself.”  
  
Henderson eyed her for a minute, but he nodded. “Never was one of the perks of the job.” He looked at Lou. “Check back with me after the autopsy.”  
  
Then he was gone.  
  
Lou slipped an arm around Clara, gently guiding her out onto the street. Clara let herself be led, her thoughts racing. She wanted nothing more than to escape into the sky, to fly so hard and fast that maybe, if she went fast enough, she could turn back time.  
  
“You okay?” Lou’s voice was gentle. Who knew he could be that gentle?  
  
“We should have done something.”  
  
 _I should have done something._  
  
“What should we have done?”  
  
“We should have known! We should have protected him.”  
  
“How?”  
  
Clara paused, at a loss. Even with her powers, she hadn’t suspected Platt was in danger.  
  
Lou grabbed her chin, tilting her face up. “Look Clara, all we can do now is prove him right. Whoever did this blew up the Messenger, and they’re probably going to try to do the same to the colonist transport.”  
  
Clara took a deep breath. Lou was right. “Okay.”  
  
Lou seemed surprised by her easy acquiescence. He checked his watch to cover the moment. “It’s six. Let’s go back to the apartment and try to get a few hours of sleep before we get started.”  
  
-l-  
  
As soon as Lou was asleep, Clara slipped out a window and flew high and fast. But no matter how fast she went, time moved stubbornly forward.


	4. Superwoman

Louis grit his teeth, his grip on his desk phone turning his knuckles white. Around him, the other denizens of the Daily Planet bullpen gave his desk a wide berth, recognizing the signs of Mad Dog Lane on the warpath. “But Henderson, there were contusions on Platt’s head!”  
  
“He could have gotten those last week,” Henderson’s voice came through the phone. “I’m sorry, Lane. The autopsy report is going to read ‘suicide.’”  
  
Louis slammed the phone down to give vent to his frustration. Henderson wouldn’t mind. They were well used to each other at this point.  
  
Clara came out of one of the conference rooms, a slip of paper in her hand. She eyed Louis with concern, even going so far as to look at him over her glasses like she could see right through him. “You okay? Your blood pressure is up. Maybe you should try paava leaves.”  
  
Louis blinked. Clara Kent really was weird.  
  
“There’s a tribe in New Guinea…” Clara was prattling on.   
  
Louis shook his head, interrupting. “What have we got?” He held out his hand for the paper.  
  
“I called Mrs. Platt. She called back and said she’d come here to talk to us. She should be here any minute.”  
  
Right on cue, an older woman with red hair came into the newsroom, followed by a little girl in a wheelchair.  
  
Louis interviewed Mrs. Platt, while Clara kept the girl, Amy, entertained. As Louis watched, Clara retrieved a stack of printer paper and showed Amy how to fold various paper animals. Maybe she’d learned origami at the same time she was learning to read Chinese… Or was that a Japanese thing? Louis wasn’t sure.  
  
“All I know is that Sam knew Prometheus was being sabotaged,” Mrs. Platt said, capturing Louis’ full attention. “And that knowledge got him killed. Please, you have to help me. Don’t let his daughter grow up thinking her father committed suicide. You have to clear his name.”  
  
Clara was tucking a small menagerie of paper animals around Amy’s legs. Most of them seemed to be cranes.  
  
“I’ll do everything I can, Mrs. Platt,” Louis promised.  
  
-l-  
  
They put in a hard day’s work trying to prove Platt’s theories, even going so far as to get Jimmy to call in a favor at STAR Labs.  
  
STAR Labs recreated the failed launch and examined Dr. Platt’s report. Their conclusion was that Platt was right, and that the Messenger had been sabotaged. The hologram generated model they created of the Messenger blew up during a simulation run. In the rush of victory, Clara threw herself into Louis’ arms, and he found himself bouncing up and down with her in the center of the newsroom. Her grin was infectious.  
  
“Now we can write the story!”   
  
“You mean  _I_  can write the story,” Louis corrected.  
  
Clara playfully pushed his chest, forcing Louis back a step. She was stronger than she looked.   
  
“Lou!”  
  
He laughed. “Fine. We can write the story. But just this once, Kent. Don’t expect to ride my coattails forever.”  
  
Clara’s face fell a little, and Louis felt like a brute, but it was better this way.  
  
“We should have dinner to celebrate!” Clara perked up.  
  
“I don’t know…”  
  
“Come on, Lou,” Clara hung on one of his arms, looking up at him with a sweet little pout that he doubted she even realized was on her face, her ridiculous glasses sliding down her nose. “We deserve it. And I still need to thank you for letting me stay with you.”  
  
Well, if she put it that way. “Okay. Dinner.”  
  
“Great!” Clara rushed to her desk, grabbing up her coat and her monster purse. “Stay out of the apartment til around seven, okay? I’ll have everything ready by then!”  
  
“Clara, what – ”  
  
And she was gone.  
  
“I see it, but I don’t believe it.”  
  
Louis looked over his shoulder to see Cat standing there, wearing some kind of strappy black thing with diamond shaped cutouts. “What, Cat?”  
  
“Louis Lane, henpecked boyfriend.”  
  
Louis rolled his eyes. “She’s not my girlfriend, Cat.”  
  
“Keep telling yourself that, Lou. She’s already got you wrapped around her little finger, just like that sister of yours.”  
  
Just like his sister… Well of course! He should have seen it before. That’s all that was between him and Clara. She reminded him of Lucy.  
  
“Louis, Cat. My name is Louis.”  
  
“Hey, Louis?” Jimmy called, popping his head around the corner. “If you’re not dating Clara, you mind if I take a shot at her?”  
  
Louis scowled. “Take a shot at her? She’s not a deer, Jimmy.” Even if she did have doe eyes.  
  
“Aw, come on Louis. You know what I mean. Did you see her at the ball? Man she’s pretty, even with those glasses, but you can really see her eyes better without them, and her legs, whoa, right? I mean, I was standing by the buffet when she dropped her little purse thing, and she bent over to get it, and let me just say – ”  
  
“That’s enough, Jimmy!” Louis snapped.   
  
Cat’s laughter followed him all the way to the elevator.   
  
-l-  
  
At precisely ten to seven (just to show he didn’t follow orders), Louis Lane entered his apartment.  
  
His spotless apartment.  
  
His spotless apartment that was filled with the enticing aroma of well prepared food.  
  
Louis threw his coat and briefcase down on the sofa, then glanced around the tidy room and thought better of it. He retrieved his coat and hung it in the closet and put his briefcase on the coffee table. Satisfied, he edged toward the kitchen, feeling a bit like he was approaching the den of some sort of jungle beast.  
  
Clara was there, busy stirring and grilling and other cooking verbs that Louis didn’t know, and she was actually wearing an apron.  
  
An apron.  
  
Some deeply buried caveman part of Louis made sounds like a contented grizzly bear.  _Woman pretty. Woman clean cave. Woman cook good. Good woman. Keep woman._  
  
But the more present, dominant part wanted to tell Cave Louis to shut up and run screaming from this scene of domesticity. Something like this created expectations, expectations Louis knew he couldn’t possibly live up to.  
  
Lucy was sitting at the bar. She noticed Louis first. “Louie, you’re home!”  
  
Grabbing his hand, she eagerly dragged him over to the dining area. “Look, I set the table!”  
  
She was so excited. Had she ever had reason to set a table before? Had anyone ever bothered to show her how? Louis couldn’t remember.  
  
“Clara even showed me how to fold the napkins into different shapes. Look!”  
  
Louis made the appropriate noises of admiration at Lucy’s new found napkin folding skills, but his mind was elsewhere, spinning in circles as he tried to figure out what this meant. When Clara had said they’d have dinner, he didn’t think she’d cook. What did she think this was? Were she and Lucy already planning a wedding and naming the children? If he had come home earlier, would he have caught them wearing pillow cases on their heads and humming ‘Here comes the bride’?  
  
“Dinner’s served!”  
  
Clara carried three plates of steak, potatoes, and some kind of asparagus dish to the dining area with the expertise of someone who had at some point waited tables, and directed Louis to pour the wine she’d chilled. Louis poured for himself and Clara, but went to the fridge to get a soft drink for Lucy. It figured that Lucy would have neglected to tell Clara that she wasn’t twenty-one yet.  
  
When he opened the fridge, he found all the take out boxes had been thrown out, the shelves scrubbed, and the fridge stocked with groceries. He raised a brow at the number of different kinds of snack cakes, but years of practically raising his sister had taught him not to comment on the amount of sweets a woman consumed.  
  
For any reason.  
  
Ever.  
  
He fetched a soda and went back to the table.  
  
Dinner passed with quiet conversation and much laughter. Clara asked Lucy how her day was, and Lucy babbled on about classes and papers and the cute boy who sat next to her in biology. Louis ate his (extremely delicious, one of the best he’d ever had, even) steak, and occasionally threw in a comment when the ladies quieted down long enough for him to get a word in edgewise.   
  
It occurred to him that this was how family dinners were supposed to be. No icy stares and shouted insults. No Dad stomping to the door and Mom shattering a wineglass against the wall, and Lucy whispering, “Louie, I’m scared.”  
  
No, Clara had brought a warmth to his apartment that had nothing to do with the food. It was just like having another sister, an older one that Lucy could look up to. It was nice.  
  
If you liked that sort of thing.  
  
Something made a dinging sound.  
  
“What was that?”  
  
“The oven timer,” Clara answered, getting up.  
  
“I have an oven timer?”  
  
“I know, right?” Lucy said. “Who knew?”  
  
Clara came back with a fresh apple pie.  
  
-l-  
  
“…but Platt was  _probably murdered_. Is that what you’re telling me?” Perry finished his rant, giving Louis and Clara his patented Evil Eye. He wasn’t going to run the Messenger story. All they had was conjecture based on the word of a discredited scientist.  
  
“Chief,” Louis started.  
  
“Hard facts!” Perry bellowed. “Hard facts! That’s the name of the game, boys and girls. Now go out there and get me some!”  
  
Dejected, Clara and Louis trudged from Perry’s office.  
  
“That’s it then. We’re not getting any farther without proof.”  
  
Louis nodded. “We need pictures, or better yet, a piece of the Messenger. Maybe files from Baine’s office that show she read Platt’s report.” Thinking quickly, he turned to Clara. “You go call EPRAD, see if they’ll agree to an outside investigation of the Messenger wreckage by STAR Labs. I’ll follow up on another lead.”  
  
Just as Louis had hoped, Clara smiled and ran off to do as he suggested. Good. Clara might be naïve enough to think that EPRAD would allow an outside investigator to look at the Messenger, but Louis wasn’t. But if he’d told Clara what he was planning, she’d have wanted to come along, and Louis wouldn’t drag a sweet country girl like her into this kind of danger.  
  
Grabbing his coat and pulling his recorder out of his desk drawer, he hurried toward the stairs before Clara could come back and see him leaving.  
  
“Hey, where you going?” Jimmy asked.  
  
The elevator doors opened. “Nowhere.”  
  
Jimmy dashed into the elevator. “I’m coming too!”  
  
Louis shrugged. Jimmy could handle himself, and he was good at picking locks.  
  
-l-  
  
Clara leaned back in her chair, casually watching the conference room door. She hadn’t seen Louis and Jimmy since her phone call to EPRAD.   
  
“Looking for lover boy?” Cat teased.  
  
“It’s not like that, Cat.”  
  
“But you wish it was.”  
  
Clara winced. “Am I that obvious?”  
  
Cat gave her a reassuring grin. “To me and Perry? Yes. To Louis and Jimmy? No.”  
  
Clara let out a breath she hadn’t known she was holding. Lou had made it pretty clear he wasn’t interested in a long term relationship, and Clara just wasn’t a casual fling kind of girl. She’d hate for her feelings to ruin what she was starting to feel could be a great friendship.   
  
Besides, she’d probably get over it soon.  
  
Perry came in and sat at the head of the table. “Alright, let’s get this show on the road. Wait… Clara, where’s Lane and Jimmy?”  
  
“Don’t know, Chief. I haven’t seen them in a while.”  
  
“Well, alright. We’ll get started without them. Now, Myerson…”  
  
Clara tried to pay attention to the meeting, but she couldn’t focus. There was something tickling the back of her mind, telling her that she was needed somewhere else. Expanding her hearing, she tried to find a snatch of Louis’ voice in the building, to no avail. Either he wasn’t speaking, or he wasn’t there. She hadn’t been around him long enough yet to recognize his heartbeat, so that was out.  
  
She got up and headed for the door.  
  
“Kent, where are you going?”  
  
“It’s not like Lou and Jimmy to miss a meeting, sir. I’m going to go call around, see if I can find them.”  
  
Perry motioned her out the door. “Hell of a way to run a railroad.”  
  
Clara left the conference room and headed directly to the roof. She spared only a moment to gaze across the city before taking to the air.  
  
-l-  
  
By the time Clara thought to fly over EPRAD, the sun was setting, painting the horizon a red that reminded her of blood. It was funny, how different the world could seem from moment to moment. Usually Clara loved the sunset, but with her friends missing…  
  
She hovered above the Planet building and x-rayed it to see that Lou and Jimmy still weren’t back, and then zoomed her way to EPRAD – just in time to find two thugs tying Louis up in one of the storage buildings behind EPRAD’s hangar, Jimmy lying unconscious a few feet away.  
  
Antoinette Baines was there. Lou was right about her being involved. As Clara watched, Baines pulled a gun and leveled it at Lou’s head.  
Without thinking, just knowing that she had to provide a distraction before Lou was shot, Clara landed and crashed through the door of the storage building. “Let him go!”  
  
The two thugs jumped at the sound of the doors flying open, but Antoinette Baines barely flicked an eyelid. “Or you’ll… what?”  
  
Clara opened her mouth, a threat on the tip of her tongue before her brain caught up with her. Everyone in this room thought she was a normal woman from Kansas who needed glasses.  
  
Damn.  
  
“I’ve already called the police,” Clara said as convincingly as possible.  
  
Baines barked a laugh. “Why don’t I believe you?” She ordered the thugs to tie Clara up, back to back against the same pole as Lou, and Clara had no choice but to let them unless she wanted everyone to know how different she was. They forced her to her knees and wrapped a chain around her.  
  
She wanted to scream.  
  
No. What she really wanted to do was grab Lou and Jimmy, and fly away.  
  
But screaming would have been good too.  
  
Baines said something about an explosion, and set two volatile chemicals leaking from vats across the storage room. When the two substances met, the resulting reaction would blow the building sky high.  
  
Clara barely paid attention. She was too busy berating herself, imagining the ways she could have done this better. Maybe if she was going to fly around in disguise, she should take some kind of police course? Did they offer like… police camp or something to civilians?  
  
She’d ask Mom about it.  
  
“Good going, Farm Girl. Please tell me you actually did call the police,” Lou was snarking when Clara tuned back in. Baines and her goons were gone.  
  
“Would it make you feel better if I lied to you?” Clara snapped grumpily. She was already beating herself up enough, she didn’t need Lou on her case too.  
  
“Yes. Yes, it would.”  
  
Lou’s deadpan tone almost made Clara smile. Almost.  
  
“Then yes, I really did call the police. They’re sending a SWAT team.”  
  
“Great.”  
  
Lou fell silent, and Clara started working against her chains, trying to find a way to break them that wouldn’t look too out of the ordinary.  
  
“Why the hell did you come bursting in here anyway?” Lou erupted. “Who do you think you are, She-Ra?! Well, you’re not! You should have just quietly snuck away and got help. Then we’d all be fine. But nooo, you have to go and make some grand gesture, some kind of Romeo and Juliet thing because you’ve been reading too many trashy romance novels, and now all you’ve accomplished is getting yourself blown up too!”  
  
He stopped, breathing hard.  
  
“You done?” Clara asked, annoyed but trying not to show it. Lou thought he was going to die. That made some people nasty. Clara had seen it before.  
  
There was a pause, like Lou was considering the question.  
  
“Yeah, I’m done.”  
  
“Romeo and Juliet thing? Is that all you think women think about? Romance?”  
  
“In my experience women want the fairy tale, and when you can’t deliver that, when they’re forced to see that life just plain isn’t like that, suddenly you’re the bad guy, one of your stories is missing, and everyone in the office is either scowling at you or snickering by the water cooler.”  
  
Clara felt an odd sensation rush through her, an awareness of the delicacy of the moment that made her ears buzz and her face heat. “You’re talking about Claudia, aren’t you?”  
  
A bitter laugh. “That was fast. Who told you? Cat?”  
  
“Why don’t you tell me what really happened?” Clara held her breath.  
  
“What’s it matter? You’ve heard Claudia’s version of events. That’s what everyone believes. Hell, half the time I even believe it.”  
  
“I want to hear it from you, Lou. I’ll believe you. I promise, I’ll always believe you when you tell me something important.”  
  
Long minutes passed. Clara quietly bent one of the links in the chain securing them to the pole, freezing it with her breath so that the weakened metal would shatter under pressure.  
  
“Claudia was… this bright light. Beautiful, with this cute accent. I wanted her. What can I say? I’m a man. But I never wanted more than that. I never wanted a relationship. I’d just started my career, I knew I’d be out at all hours chasing leads, and probably rude and distracted when I was home. That wasn’t the kind of life to offer someone. And I thought Claudia understood that. She said she did, that she wanted the same thing. She came to my apartment one night, and we, well… I don’t need to draw you a diagram.”  
  
Clara leaned back against the pole, intent on Lou. She could hear his heart hammering, and she focused on the sound, memorizing it. Somehow she had a feeling she’d need to know it in the future.  
  
“The next day,” Lou tentatively resumed the story when Clara said nothing. Maybe he’d expected her to condemn him for sleeping with Claudia?  
  
“The next day, Claudia called me a pig and stormed out with a file of notes for my latest story. And when I got into work, the story was submitted under her byline, and she’d told everyone that I lured her to my bed and broke her heart once I got what I wanted. I’m still not sure if that’s what she really believed, or if she just told everyone that so it would look bad if I ever confronted her about stealing my story. She won an award for it, you know. The story.”  
  
“Oh, Lou,” Clara sighed. “I’m sorry.”  
  
“Don’t be,” Lou sounded surprised. “I drove her to it. It’s my fault. I figure the story thing makes us even.”  
  
“No, it’s not,” Clara calmly refuted. “Or not just your fault. Maybe you broke her heart and were a little insensitive, but you didn’t mean to. Even if you did, she’d misled you about her feelings. And it doesn’t justify her taking your story.”  
  
Lou shook his head. “It’s my fault,” he repeated.  
  
Clara grunted in frustration. “Fine. It’s your fault. Claudia was just a poor little woman and she had absolutely no choice in anything she did and wasn’t capable of making up her own mind at all.”  
  
There as a significant silence.  
  
_Showed you!_  Clara thought, pursing her lips. Seemed what Mom always said was right. When a man was down, what he needed even more than a shoulder to cry on was a woman to talk some sense into him.  
  
“Lou, there’s a rusty link in my side of the chain. If we pull hard enough, it might break.”  
  
“Okay,” Lou said, sounding more like his commanding self. “Okay. On three. One, two – ”  
  
They pulled. The link Clara had spent their conversation weakening gave way, the ends convincingly fragmented.  
  
Clara stepped away from the pole, the loose chain falling around her feet with a clank. “Get the door!” She told Lou. “I’ll get Jimmy!” She headed for the copy boy’s unconscious body.  
  
“What are you thinking, Clara?” Lou demanded. “You’ll never be able to lift him. I’ll get him, you get the door!”  
  
Clara froze for a millisecond, processing what Lou had said, and then ruefully changed direction to open the doors. Behind her, Lou grunted as he hefted Jimmy into a fireman’s carry. “The chemicals are getting close! Run!”  
  
Clara waited for Lou to pass her, falling into step behind him so that she could protect him and Jimmy from the worst of the blast. Lou didn’t have the breath to argue. He was a muscular guy, but he was carrying a hundred and eighty pounds of dead weight at a run.  
  
They cleared the building just as an explosion shook the air, temporarily deafening Clara and making her ears ring with a high pitched whine. She could feel the heat of fire at her back, but it didn’t bother her. Letting her feet skim the ground, she took flight, wrapping her arms around Lou’s waist and carrying all three of them forward to land in a muddy wallow twenty yards from the building.  
  
Jimmy landed on his back in the water, Lou on top of him, and Clara sprawled on top of Lou. Quickly she rolled, putting her back in the water of the puddle before Lou could notice her blouse was on fire. She’d be hard put to explain the lack of burns.   
  
Another explosion tore through the night, and Clara looked up, focusing on a point in the darkness. It was a helicopter, or the remains of one, crashing back down to Earth. Baines…?  
  
“Um… guys?”  
  
Clara looked in the direction of the voice and saw Jimmy and Lou lying in the puddle together like they were lovers, Jimmy giving Lou a wary look. Clara couldn’t help it. She burst out laughing.  
  
That just seemed to make Jimmy more nervous.   
  
“Is there a reason I can’t remember how I wound up laying in a puddle under Louis?”  
  
“It’s simple, Jimmy,” Clara explained. “Lou saved your life.”  
  
“Oh.” Jimmy sounded dazed. “My hero.”  
  
Clara burst out laughing again.  
  
-l-  
  
The newsroom erupted in applause. Louis smiled, holding up that day’s paper and tracing his fingers over the headline in satisfaction. This one might get him a Kerth.  
  
_Of course,_  he thought, looking at the byline,  _I’d have to share it._  
  
The paper read ‘MESSENGER SABOTAGED. SABATEUR DIES IN FIERY EXPLOSION’ by Louis Lane and Clara Kent with special contributions from James Olsen.’  
  
“Kent,” Perry was saying. “Thought I’d let you know – I just got off the phone with EPRAD. The colonist launch vehicle’s been fixed, and Mrs. Platt and her daughter are back on board.”  
  
“Thanks, Chief.” Clara’s face softened. “I’m glad they’ll get to go.”  
  
Louis nodded to himself in satisfaction as he turned away from the celebration, (you were only as good as your next story, after all). He was glad Amy Platt would get her chance at a cure.  
  
Tucking the newspaper into his briefcase so that he could clip the front page article later, he sat down to check his voicemail. He had three messages from Lex Luthor’s personal assistant.  
  
They were all for Clara.  
  
Louis snorted, but he returned the calls.   
  
“You have reached the office of Lex Luthor. This is Mrs. Cox speaking. How may I direct your call?”  
  
“This is Louis Lane. Mr. Luthor was trying to reach my… partner through me. I want you to pass on a message.”  
  
“What message?”  
  
“That Luthor isn’t getting anywhere near Clara Kent until he grants me a one on one interview,” Louis smiled.  
  
It wasn’t underhanded. Not at all. He and Clara had already agreed that she’d help him get the interview, and in return he’d credit her when he wrote the piece up. It was totally ethical. It was  _fine._  
  
“… I’ll pass that on to Mr. Luthor.”  
  
“See that you do.”  
  
Louis hung up.  
  
“Who was that?”  
  
Louis nearly jumped out of his skin, whirling in his desk chair to face Clara. Somehow he had a feeling that she knew exactly what he was up to, but he shook it off. That was impossible, unless she had ears like a dog, or read minds or something.  
  
“Just setting up an interview,” Louis hedged. “Anyway, I’ll see you back at the apartment later.” He picked up his coat. “I’ve got somewhere to be.”  
  
And he did. He’d bribed a few guards and one diplomat, and was now in possession of the identification materials and uniform of a colonist scheduled to go up on the shuttle launch. A colonist who resembled Louis, and had fallen ill.  
  
Louis was going to take the sick colonist’s place and write a firsthand account of space travel. If that didn’t win him a Pulitzer, he wasn’t sure what would.  
  
Of course, he’d be away for three months, at a minimum. That was when the first transport was scheduled for supplies to be brought to Prometheus. Louis was hoping he’d be able to catch a ride back on it.  
  
Just before heading up the ramp to the elevator, he turned back and looked at Clara. “Hey, Farm Girl… Keep an eye on Lucy for me.”  
  
She gave him a weird look, but said, “Of course, Lou.”  
  
-l-  
  
“I don’t know about this costume idea, Clara,” Jonathan said as Clara and her mother spread bolts of leftover fabric all over the Kent family dining room table. Martha was setting up the sewing machine, and Clara trying to coordinate colors.  
  
“It’ll work, Daddy,” Clara assured her father. “It just has to. I can’t stand by when people need me. Not anymore.”  
  
Jonathan sighed. “You’re a good girl. Always have been.”  
  
Clara hugged her father, rocking back on her heels so that she lifted him up off the ground. “And you’ll always been my favorite teddy bear, Dad.”  
  
They all laughed at the old joke, and then Martha shooed Jonathan out of the kitchen.  
  
“Now, since you mentioned this, honey, I’ve been giving it some thought. I think we should use one of your old dance leotards as the base, and then we’ll just dress it up some with accents, and maybe a cape.”  
  
“A leotard, Mom?” Clara said doubtfully. “Isn’t that a bit skimpy for, I don’t know… fighting fires and stopping runaway trains and things like that?”  
  
Mom laughed. “Well it’s not like you need the protection! And I thought part of the point was to keep people from recognizing you. Who would think Clara Kent was the one running around in a leotard? And besides that, we want the base to be something that will fit under most of your clothes. It’ll be suspicious if you’re still wearing long sleeves and pants in the summer.”  
  
As much as she didn’t like the idea of parading around practically naked, Clara recalled Cat’s comments about leopard print dresses and people underestimating her. And she couldn’t refute her mother’s logic.   
  
So they went to her room and dug through her closet until they found a dark blue leotard with sturdy shoulder straps. “I remember this.” Clara fingered the silky fabric. “You made this for me to wear to dance practice because the ones in the store in town were so expensive.”  
  
Mom nodded. “I never could figure out what they were doing charging as much as they did for all your dance outfits. It’s not like there’s a lot of material involved! It was always cheaper just to make them all myself. And besides, it gave us some lovely memories, didn’t it honey?”  
  
“Like the time I was so excited about my new tutu that I kept staring while you made it and accidentally set it on fire?”  
  
They burst into a fit of laughter, tiny lines crinkling around Martha’s eyes. “You wanted to wear that thing so bad, and then the tulle melted and I had to start over!”  
  
Clara put the leotard on. Her bosom was bigger since the last time she'd worn it, but the fabric stretched, and while it was  _very_  tight, it still managed not to be indecent. They went back downstairs to experiment with adding things to it to make it look less like a leotard and more like a uniform.  
  
“We’ll add a skirt. A short one will fit under most of your clothes, but give you some coverage for your tush.”  
  
“Gee, thanks Mom.”  
  
They decided on a skirt the same color as the leotard, so that it would look like all one piece. Martha pinned it in place, and added gold trim along the edges where the skirt joined the leotard.  
  
“It’s still pretty skimpy.”  
  
“Hmm. How about some long gloves and tall boots? That will cover you, but they’ll be easy to take on and off, so you won’t have to worry about hiding them under your regular clothes.”  
  
Another dive into Clara’s old dance costumes resulted in a pair of bright red elbow length gloves and a pair of red toe shoes – the kind worn for en pointe. Clara had worn them for a show at the Smallville Little Theatre, a ballet production of  _The Wizard of Oz_  in which she’d played The Wicked Witch of the East.   
  
They still fit.  
  
“The ballet shoes will be fine for now. I’ve got some red fabric here, and I’ll make you some leggings that lace up the back and make the shoes look like boots. Oh, and I bet you’ll be so pretty, floating in the air with your toes pointed! And you could land on one toe… You have to let me take your picture!”  
  
Clara couldn’t help but smile at her mother’s enthusiasm, even as something inside her positively quivered with the fear that the disguise wouldn’t work. That she’d be found out.  
  
“I’ll have to add a new section to photo album where I keep all your dance pictures,” Martha was saying. “Oh, I won’t show anyone of course, but it’ll make me happy to be able to look at it.”  
  
_Once a dance mom, always a dance mom,_  Clara watched her mother flutter around the kitchen with fondness.  
  
Finishing the costume was the work of minutes. Martha marked out the patterns and pinned things in place, and then Clara cut and sewed at super speed. They’d made many a Halloween costume for the neighborhood kids this way, and worked well together.  
  
“Now the cape!”  
  
“Mo-om…”  
  
“It’ll be great when you’re flying! And I thought you were worried about the outfit being too skimpy.”  
  
“Fine,” Clara said with a sigh.  
  
They made it red, to match the ballet boots and gloves.  
  
“Now take your hair down.”  
  
“But it blows in my face when I fly.”  
  
“Yes, but Clara Kent always wears her hair up. It’ll add to the illusion if you take it down when you’re disguised. And so long as you keep wearing it up when you’re dressed normally, no one will realize that your hair is just as long as the miraculous flying woman’s.”  
  
“Mom, how’d you get so good at this?”  
  
“I read a lot of spy novels, dear.”  
  
Clara took her hair down. It fell in thick waves around her face, a splash of black against the red of her cape. Mom ran her fingers through it, arranging it around Clara’s shoulders.  
  
“You have such lovely hair.”  
  
Clara pouted. “It still gets in my face when I fly.”  
  
“Maybe a headband? Or better yet, a mask.”  
  
“A mask?” Clara was doubtful. “Won’t that make people suspicious of me? Think that I have something to hide?”  
  
“Well, Clara, you goose, you do have something to hide! Or did you think that just taking off your glasses would make you look different enough? Especially as I’m betting you didn’t wear your glasses to that ball you attended last week.”  
  
Clara hadn’t thought of that.  
  
“Mom, really. How did you get so good at this?”  
  
Rather than the teasing like she had before, Martha's expression turned thoughtful. Cupping Clara’s cheeks in her hands, she looked her in the eye. “Clara Josephina Kent, I have been preparing for this moment since you were eight years old and used your super speed to keep a cat from getting hit by a car. I’ve always known that you would never be able to sit by and do nothing when there are people out there who need you. I’ve just been waiting for you to decide you were ready.”  
  
Tears in her eyes, Clara hugged her mother.  
  
“I’m so proud of you,” Martha whispered.  
  
They stayed that way for several long minutes, and then Martha straightened with a no nonsense sniffle. “Come on. I’ve got some sheets of metal and my blowtorch out in the barn, for my art class. Let’s go make you a mask.”  
  
They used an old Halloween half mask as a guide, tracing the shape onto a sheet of golden-bronze metal. Then, under Martha’s direction, Clara cut and welded with precision blasts of her heat vision, and used her strength to bend the mask into shape. The nose piece came to a point, and the side pieces flared around her face in the shape of wings, in order to keep her hair pushed back. When she put it on, she felt like a warrior. A valkyrie.   
  
A hero out of legend.  
  
Valkyrie. Maybe that’s what she’d call herself. Her new persona needed a name, she supposed. After all, she couldn’t just go around introducing herself as Clara.  
  
They went back in the house and Clara stood before the full length mirror in her parents’ bedroom, peering at the person reflected there. Trying to figure out who she was.  
  
The mask really did help. It made her look forbidding. Serious.  
  
She straightened up, folding her arms across her chest.  
  
Valkyrie. That’s who she would be when she donned the Suit. Helpful, but distant. Kind, but unknowable. Openly not human.  
  
Openly not human.  
  
If she was capable of sweating, that thought would have made her do it.  
  
“You look good, honey,” Mom said from the doorway. “It just needs a couple more things.”  
  
“What’s that, Mom?”  
  
Martha handed Clara a red lipstick, a few shades darker than the color she’d worn to Lex Luthor’s ball. Clara put it on and observed the effect in the mirror. Yes, with the mask and the lipstick, the lower half of her face looked strange even to her.   
  
“What’s the other thing?”  
  
Mom smiled and held out a roll of fabric, letting it fall open it to reveal a red ‘S’ on a gold field. There was something familiar about it. Clara trailed her fingers over the letter, a hazy memory of the same letter in white dancing before her eyes. But no, surely that was just a dream…  
  
“We found it with you, that night your ship crashed in the field,” Mom said quietly, joining Clara in tracing the symbol. “I’ve been saving it for the day you decided to let everyone see how special you are. We thought maybe it was some kind of crest of your people…”  
  
“My people,” Clara murmured. Then she smiled. “Did Daddy know you had all this planned?”  
  
Mom laughed. “He knew. He hoped this day would never come. He’s afraid for you. But he knew, same as I did.”  
  
They stitched the symbol onto the front of Clara’s Suit, over her heart.  
  
She had a people. She wore their symbol. She only hoped that she would wear it well. Would make them, whoever they were, as proud of her as her human parents were.  
  
She didn’t have time to worry over it long. No sooner had they put the finishing touches on the Suit than Clara heard them say on the television that the colonist transport, set to launch back in Metropolis, was in trouble.  
  
She was gone so fast that fabric scraps blew all over the kitchen, automatically flying high to avoid being seen.  
  
And then she remembered that it didn’t matter if anyone saw her.  
  
She’d been able to fly for years, but this was the first time she felt free.  
  
-l-  
  
Louis easily got through EPRAD’s security checkpoints and boarded the colonist transport. In fact, it was almost too easy, and he made a mental note for a potential article on lax security measures. He could write it when he got back from space.  
  
Got back from space.  
  
Louis had always been ambitious, both by nature and as something he was pushed into by his father. Sam Lane’s son always had to be first, the best, a mirror that reflected glory back on the father. Louis had become a junior kickboxing champion in his teens, was the youngest journalist in history to win a Kerth Award, let alone two, and now he was going to be the first journalist in outer space.  
  
Louis smiled to himself, finding an empty section of the ship and strapping himself in. It wouldn’t do for the Platts to see and recognize him in the main area where the other colonists were. Not until it was too late for him to be ejected from the shuttle.  
  
A man in black walked through the hallway, passing by the open door hatch. Louis blinked. The man wasn’t wearing the uniform of a colonist, and he didn’t look like a lab tech or engineer. So who was he, and what was he doing?  
  
Unbuckling himself, Louis went to the door, standing back and at an angle so that he wouldn’t be readily visible.  
  
The man in black was fiddling with a bunch of wires and affixing some kind of display to the wall. A last minute repair, maybe? A security camera?  
  
The man in black picked up his bag and left. Louis let him go, more interested in what the man had done than the man himself.  
  
He approached the bank of wires and examined the display screen. As he watched, numbers appeared on the read out.  
  
And started counting down.  
  
“A bomb,” Louis gasped, his voice coming out in a hiss. “It’s a bomb!”  
  
There was no one else around. There was no obvious way to call for help that he could see. The counter was set for five minutes, not long enough for him to run and get anyone…  
  
Louis started pulling wires out of the wire bank, heedless of possible electrocution. If he could damage the ship enough, maybe it would send someone out to see what was wrong. It wasn’t much of a plan, but it was all he had. He wasn’t about to try cutting the wires of the bomb. He wasn’t even sure if the bomb had wires. Or which one to cut if it did.  
  
Okay, if the counter got down to thirty seconds, he would see if the bomb had wires, and cut one of them.  
  
Cut it with what, his teeth?   
  
He felt for his pocket, cursed when he realized he was wearing a colonist uniform and his pocket knife wasn’t where he usually kept it, and dashed back to the room where he’d first buckled himself in and got his knife from his bag. Then he went back to the Bomb Room – because it was the Bomb Room now, and it would forever be the Bomb Room in his mind – and, for lack of anything better to do, glared at the bomb, trying to figure out if it had wires.  
  
-l-  
  
Clara landed in front of the colonist transport, a sonic boom heralding her arrival. Already, being in the ballet shoes was starting to bring back old habits. She stood tall, shoulders back, limbs arranged gracefully.   
  
_Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump._  
  
Clara cocked her head, listening. No, it couldn’t be. It absolutely could not be. But it was. She had memorized that heartbeat just yesterday, feeling that she would need to be able to recognize it in the future.  
  
Lou was on the colonist transport.  
  
Wasting no more time, Clara headed straight for Lou. If there was trouble on the shuttle, Lou would be right in the middle of it, of that she was sure.  
  
When she stepped into the room, Lou didn’t even notice her. He was busy staring at the wall, muttering to himself about wires. Clara could see the problem. There was a bomb.   
  
She had to get it away from the shuttle. But there wasn’t time. She had no idea when it would go off, no idea if she’d be fast enough.  
  
There was only one thing for it. She’d dived on plenty of grenades in some of the war torn regions she’d traveled. She’d just have to hope that her insides were as invulnerable as her outsides.  
  
Ignoring Lou’s protests, Clara pulled the bomb from the wall.  
  
And swallowed it.  
  
Squeezing her eyes shut, she waited for the boom. Waited for the pain. But there was nothing. A feeling of pressure…  
  
And then she hiccupped.  
  
“Pardon me,” she said to Lou, remembering to stand straight. Valkyrie! Think Valkyrie!   
  
“What?” Lou gaped, his eyes nearly bugging from his head. “Who are you?”  
  
Pitching her voice lower than usual and striving for a combination of capable and reassuring, Clara answered, “A friend.”  
  
Oh God, this was stupid. She sounded stupid. Suddenly, she couldn’t bring herself to tell Lou to call her Valkyrie. Claiming a name from legend? It was so pretentious! Lou wasn’t speaking. Did he recognize her? He probably thought she was a freak. He was probably afraid of her. He was probably hoping the army would be there soon, to cart her away and dissect her like a frog.  
  
“Wow,” Lou said.  
  
The other colonists crowded into the room. Clara had been so intent on Lou’s heartbeat that she didn’t hear them coming.  
  
“What’s going on here?” one of them demanded.  
  
“There was a bomb,” Lou said. He never took his eyes off of Clara. “She…uh… ate it.”  
  
Amy Platt rolled forward in her wheelchair, dressed in the brown coveralls of the colonist uniform. There was a paper crane in her hand. It wasn’t one of the ones Clara had folded. Amy must have been practicing. Where had she gotten paper on the shuttle?  
  
“Hello,” Amy said.  
  
Clara knelt so that her face was on the same level as Amy’s. The girl reached out and ran one finger down the bridge of Clara’s mask. “I like your costume.”  
  
Clara smiled before she could remind herself that her Valkyrie persona was supposed to be distant and decidedly inhuman. “Thank you. My mother made it for me.”  
  
“What’s your name?” Amy asked. Again, Clara couldn’t bring herself to say ‘Valkyrie.’ Instead, she touched a fingertip to the paper crane Amy held.  
  
“What’s that?” Clara asked.  
  
“A paper crane. This lady I know, Ms. Kent, told me that if I fold one thousand I’ll get a wish.”  
  
Clara fell silent, her hearing picking up mutterings among the adults that the shuttle wouldn’t be able to launch because it had burned its fuel in the first aborted attempt to take off, and Mission Control was discussing the crew’s inability to refuel before the launch window closed.  
  
“What do you mean to wish for, Amy?” Clara asked, trying to phrase her speech more formally than she usually would.   
  
Amy clutched the little paper crane. “To fly.”  
  
Clara looked the girl in the eye. “Then I will make you fly.”  
  
She held out her hand, and Amy gave her the crane.  
  
After depositing Lou in Mission Control – he was still too shocked to protest much – Clara lifted the rocket into space.  
  
-l-  
  
Louis stared at the paper crane in his hands. The woman – whoever she was – had asked him to hold it for her. She said it would burn up on reentry.  
  
It would burn up on reentry.  
  
The paper crane would burn up on reentry into the atmosphere, but she, the flying-rocket-lifting-bomb-eating woman, would not.  
  
Louis guarded that paper crane with his life. Wild horses could not have dragged him away. He clutched it to his chest, glancing at it every few seconds to see that it was still there.  
  
It was proof that it had happened. That the woman in the golden mask that made him think of a Roman gladiator really existed. And it was more.  
  
It was a guarantee that she was coming back.  
  
She, the most beautiful, strongest woman in the world, was coming back. Louis would see her again.  
  
She was gorgeous. Angelic. Powerful. A goddess. Everything about her spoke of a quiet nobility. Was she a queen where she came from? Because she had to have come from somewhere, and Louis would bet that somewhere wasn’t Earth.   
  
Regal. Kind. Gentle and impossibly strong all at once. She’d eaten a bomb. It seemed like nothing could hurt her.  
  
Nothing could hurt her.  
  
_I can’t hurt her._  
  
Louis checked that the paper crane was still there, and went back to watching the sky.  
  
-l-  
  
When Clara returned to EPRAD to get Lou, she expected to be positively pelted with questions. It was with dread that she made her way to Mission Control. It took an extreme act of will to school her expression, to maintain the persona she’d discovered as soon as she put on the mask.  
  
But Lou didn’t speak. He looked her up and down, his gaze lingering on her legs and rushing past her breasts, his cheeks reddening. He held out the paper crane.  
  
“Thank you,” Clara said gravely, carefully flattening the crane and then trying to figure out where to put it. She eventually slid it into the top of her left boot.  
  
Lou stared some more, totally awestruck. It was the look of a man seeing the face of God.  
  
It made Clara uncomfortable.  
  
“You have done me a service,” Clara said, calling upon her years of reading Shakespeare and Bronte. “So allow me to do a service for you.”  
  
She felt ridiculous, but it would help keep the identities separate, right? Right.  
  
It couldn’t be any worse than the cape, anyway.  
  
“Service?” Lou got out.   
  
Clara nodded. Moving slowly, so that she wouldn’t startle Lou, she wrapped an arm around his waist. “Put your arm around my shoulders,” she instructed him. “I shall fly you wherever it is you make your home.”  
  
She could easily pick Lou up and carry him, but that seemed like it might embarrass him. She’d scoop up men she had to rescue, but for Lou she would make an exception.  
  
It was funny, just a few days ago she’d wondered if he’d like to fly.  
  
Lou wrapped his arm around Clara’s shoulders. Clara pulled him close to her side and took off.  
  
A shiver went through Lou’s body, and Clara glanced at him, worried that he was going to be air sick, or that he was afraid.  
  
But Lou was laughing. He was laughing so hard that he wasn’t making any sound at all, tears streaming down his cheeks.  
  
-l-  
  
“Turn that thing off, Jimmy!” Perry ordered, flinging a hand toward the television. “It’s all a hoax. Who could possibly believe that some girl in a cheerleading costume lifted a rocket into space, and then flew off? We’ll be seeing a thousand different segments debunking this by tomorrow afternoon, you mark my – ”  
  
“Uh, Chief?”  
  
Perry turned around.  
  
The woman from the news was gently pushing open one of the bullpen windows.   
  
The bullpen wasn’t on the first floor.   
  
As Perry watched, she glided in, no wires or cables visible, and landed gently on one toe, like a ballerina. Then she lowered herself onto both feet, and Perry belatedly noticed that she had Louis with her, clamped to her side.  
  
Great Shades of Elvis, was it too late to stop the presses?  
  
The woman in the golden mask with the red ‘S’ emblazoned on her chest left the same way she came.   
  
Out the window.   
  
Perry hadn’t believed in magic in a long time. He hadn’t even believed in the magic of the everyday – those moments where time stops and you know you’ll remember it forever – in a long time. But this was quite possibly one of the most magical moments of his life.  
  
“Wayta go, Louis!” he dimly heard Jimmy say. “Man, she has got to be the hottest babe on the planet!”  
  
“What’s the ‘S’ stand for?” That was Cat.  
  
“Super…” Lane sounded out of breath. He’d been wowed, alright, and that was a hard thing to do to Louis Lane.   
  
“Superwoman!” Louis exclaimed.  
  
“Supergirl sounds better,” Perry butted in then, already composing the new front page in his mind. Maybe he’d run a special midmorning edition. “Rolls off the tongue easier. Fewer syllables.”  
  
“Chief,” Louis was making what Perry privately thought of as the Mad Dog Face. “Do you really want to see how a woman who is strong enough to lift a rocket into orbit reacts to being called a girl?”  
  
“He has a point, Chief,” a new voice piped up.  
  
Perry jumped, putting a hand over his heart. “Kent! I didn’t see you standing there.” He returned his attention to Louis. “Alright, Superwoman it is. Now get writing!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Edit 06/18/16:** A lot of people have asked me about continuing this. The answer is I have an outline, some notes, and part of the next story written, but my attention is on other projects right now so I don't know when or if I'll ever get to it. However, if people want me to, I'll post the notes as part of the series so people can know where it was heading, and/or another author can adopt the concept from me and use my notes as reference (so long as they credit and link to me). Thank you!


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